


The Wednesday Museum

by whichclothes



Series: The Wednesdayverse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
  
**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 1 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

_   
**The Wednesday Museum (1/9)**   
_

**  
The Wednesday Museum  
**

 

**  
One  
**

 

“Oooh! Look! The actual ruby slippers!”

Xander sighed and dutifully ambled over to peer into the glass case. “That’s great, Will. Snazzy. May buy a pair myself. But aren’t we supposed to be looking for Sevael’s statue? I’m pretty sure these aren’t it.”

“But who knows when we’ll be back in Washington again. We’ll seriously search for Sevael tomorrow. Besides, shouldn’t you be really into these, now that you’re a friend of Dorothy and all?” Her mouth was quirked into that crooked smile he knew so well.

“I’ve admitted I like to sleep with guys. That doesn’t mean I have to embrace every single icon of camp culture. I haven’t been singing show tunes or dressing in drag either.” The family next to them—Mom, Dad, Bubba, and Sissy, all sporting sunburns and triple chins and matching US flag t-shirts—glared, and he didn’t know whether it was because he was gay or because Willow was hogging the slipper display. Xander took Willow gently by the elbow and led her away, toward Archie Bunker’s chair.

As she read the accompanying placard, he resorted to begging. “We’ve been in DC almost a week. We’ve seen stuffed dead animals and paintings of guys in white wigs, and we’ve seen clay pots and funky sculptures that look like a collision between a bicycle and a combine, and we’ve seen spaceships. When can we go home?”

“The Air and Space Museum was your idea, mister, not mine. I knew the statue wouldn’t be there.”

“Well, it’s probably not here, either. Unless it’s hidden in Julia Child’s kitchen or up Kermit the Frog’s ass. C’mon, Will.”

She turned and glared at him, and he felt like he was six years old. “We’re on a _mission_, Xander. Sevael is important, and you know that perfectly well. You say you want to go home. What home? That funky studio apartment that smells like cat pee?”

Xander tried to hide his hurt. “Hey, that’s _my_ funky studio apartment that smells like cat pee, and it’s not my fault I can’t afford anything better. Hard to hold a decent job when you keep getting dragged away on missions; and demon-slaying doesn’t pay so well, you know?”

They were going to have another argument about this, because he was tired and hungry and his feet hurt, and he was sick of…of everything. And deep in his heart, he knew she was right. That dingy rathole in Tacoma wasn’t home any more than the one in Cleveland had been, or Minneapolis or Phoenix or Newark or any of the other places he’d stayed over the past eight years.

Willow must have seen the storm brewing in his eye because she sighed and patted his arm. “Why don’t you go sit down on that bench, Xan? I want to see Seinfeld’s puffy shirt, and then we can go to the cafeteria and get some sandwiches, okay? And we can make a plan for tomorrow, ‘cause we’re almost out of museums.”

He nodded. “Fine.” And then, because she was his best friend in the whole world, he added, “And after we eat I guess we can go look at the First Ladies’ dresses.”

She smiled again and gave him a one-armed hug. He trudged over to the bench in question, which he had to share with an exhausted-looking young woman holding a sleeping baby. The woman gave his eyepatch a wary glance and then looked away. He stretched his legs out and wriggled his toes and watched people walk by: a troop of Boy Scouts caught in the midst of the natural disaster of being fourteen-year-old boys, a tour group from Japan, kids and grown-ups and grandparents, couples and families, and a clutch of ladies in their sixties with their shirts tucked into their elastic-waist pants. Ordinary people touring the nation’s capital.

Willow rejoined him about fifteen minutes later. He stood and followed her down the escalator. The café was crowded, and he would have been tempted to just go outside and buy something from one of the food trucks, but it was hot and sticky out there, and nice and cool in the museum. So upon mutual agreement he scouted out a table and staked it out while Willow stood in line. The line moved fairly quickly at least, and she sat down, setting her overfull tray heavily onto the tabletop. She’d bought a Coke for him, and a roast beef sandwich on an onion roll, and a bag of cheddar and sour cream chips. For herself, she’d got a salad with apples and walnuts and grapes in it, and a big bottle of water.

“Okay,” she said when they were several bites into their lunch. “We’ve got most of the Smithsonian museums covered—”

“Thank Zeus for that!” he interrupted, and she glared.

“There are still a couple little ones we should check. I mean, Sevael is probably not at the Renwick or the Postal Museum, but we’ll need to do a quick recon just in case.”

“Nice use of the military lingo, Will. But really—the Postal Museum?”

She shrugged. “Just in case. And if it’s not there, we’ll have to turn to some of the non-Smithsonians.”

He couldn’t stop a groan escaping. “How many frigging museums are there in this damned place? It’s like a special level of hell or something.”

She pointed a forkful of arugula at him. “You should consider yourself lucky we don’t have to search the Capitol or Library of Congress or—”

“Yeah, yeah, got it. I’m very thankful. But what if it’s not here at all? What if we’re on some kind of wild statue chase?”

“We’re not,” she replied confidently. “My scrying spell said it’s on display in a museum in DC, and it’s a really good scrying spell.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She was the witch, after all. He was just…muscle. Or something.

A few hours later, they plodded back towards their hotel. Xander might not have made it if Willow hadn’t promised him HBO and room service. As it was, he felt sweaty and sore and just downright cranky by the time they walked into the lobby. It was a nice hotel—a historic one, Willow had informed him—with a grand lobby and cheery staff. They were sharing a room with two queen beds and, although the only view they had was of the other wing of the hotel, Xander didn’t care. It felt too good to kick off his shoes and peel off his socks and sink down onto the zillions of pillows with the remote control cradled lovingly in his hand. Who needed culture when you had HBO?

Willow washed her face at the bathroom sink, then announced she was going back down to get some cold drinks. He knew she was going to call the gang, too, but he didn’t mind missing out on that conversation. He’d heard it before—Giles urging them to hurry, Buffy complaining about whichever fellow Slayers were driving her crazy that week, Dawn gushing about her current boyfriend. A year ago, Xander would have been able to make a call of his own, to Aiden. But Aiden was gone, probably now with a new boyfriend who didn’t have a demon-hunting hobby. And honestly, Xander thought he was better off without the drama. Lonelier, but calmer.

_  
True Blood  
_  
came on, and Xander immediately clicked to a different channel. He was dithering between _House Hunters International_ and _Caprica_, and mulling that phone call to room service, when he fell fast asleep.

 

***

 

Over the next few days Xander became acquainted with—surprise!—even more museums. Some he didn’t mind. The Spy Museum was pretty cool actually, and so was the Museum of Crime and Punishment. But then there were more paintings and obscure stuff in glass cases, and if he saw one more earnest display about a dead President he was going to throw himself under a bus.

By Sunday they’d turned to some truly obscure museums, the types of places tucked away in townhouses on side streets and barely mentioned in guidebooks. There was a Museum of Silverware, for Christ’s sake; and a Museum of Bread; and one whose name he didn’t catch, but which seemed to contain mostly different types of tapes and glues.

By Tuesday evening, even the capital’s nearly inexhaustible supply of museums had nearly run out. “We’re going to try three more tomorrow,” Willow said over a dinner of Chinese take-out. “It has to be in one of them. It has to!”

Xander reached over and patted her shoulder. “It will be. Your magics haven’t failed us yet, have they?”

Her smile wasn’t very sincere but at least it wasn’t a frown, and then she giggled a little when he tried to pick up some noodles with chopsticks and ended up dropping the slippery things in his lap. She poked at her broccoli chicken for a moment. “What if I’m losing my touch?” she finally asked.

“You’re not. You’re getting better, actually. More…controlled. Remember those Yojni a couple months ago? You had those tentacles tied up in bows before anyone else could even move, and you didn’t ruffle a hair on their hostages’ heads. Or those vamps that ambushed us in Vegas—”

“That was pretty nifty,” she said. She was right. She’d somehow uprooted an entire section of wooden fence and sent the posts flying straight into the vampires’ hearts, just as neat as could be.

“I’m the one who’s running out of juice,” Xander said. “Not that I had all that much to begin with.”

She looked concerned. “What do you mean? Are you feeling okay, Xan?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But sometimes I get those killer headaches and I don’t know if that’s from the eye thing or all the conks to the skull I’ve had over the years. And my arm hurts where I broke it a couple times, and my knees twinge, and…. I’m 30, Will, and I haven’t taken the best care of myself. You’re gonna still be Superwitch when your hair’s gray and you’re spending your days in a rocking chair. Me, I’m just getting older and slower.”

“Are you considering quitting?”

He rubbed at his eyepatch, an old habit by now. “I don’t know. I think about it sometimes. Settling down somewhere. I could probably still get a few years in building houses, if my back holds out. But if I did, I’d think about you guys; you know, still fighting the good fight. I don’t know if I could live with myself just hammering nails while you’re risking your necks, saving the world.”

“You’ve risked your neck plenty, Xander.”

“Yeah. But so have you. All of you.” He tried for the noodles again and this time succeeded in getting a few into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed and said, “Let’s drop the subject. What cultural delights await us tomorrow?”

She pulled a little notebook out of her bag. “Mmm, there’s a coin collection, a hat museum—”

“Hats?”

She shrugged. “Why not? Bonnets, fedoras, porkpies, beanies, Stetsons…. And um, the Bell Museum of Victorian Life and then the Panorama of Transportation.”

“Sounds scintillating.”

“Big word, Xander Harris.”

“Hey, I read.” He grinned. “It was in the latest issue of _X-Men_.”

 

***

 

There were more kinds of hats than he had ever dreamed of. Not that he’d had the slightest interest in the subject before they entered the museum, or that any interest was piqued as they toured. Needless to say, they found no magic statues there, and Xander narrowly avoided being the recipient of a souvenir baseball cap after Willow did a quick prowl through the gift shop.

The Bell Museum was only a few blocks away in a tall, narrow brick building. A metal sign affixed near the door announced that the building had once been a boarding house, and that a famous person Xander had never heard of had died there in 1872.

Refreshingly, the Bell Museum didn’t do a security check at the door. Maybe they figured they were too obscure for anybody to consider…doing whatever it was all the other museums seemed to be afraid of. Xander wasn’t sure what that was. Bringing in weapons so as to rob them of their priceless collections of crap? Smuggling in something fucking _interesting_? In any case, here there was only a thin lady who looked old enough to have personally experienced the Victorian era, and she smiled at them and took their ten bucks apiece and handed them brochures. “Don’t forget to sign our guest book,” she said, waving vaguely toward the corner of the room. “And one of our curators is giving a lecture on Romantic literature at 3 pm. That will be in the Rose Salon on the second floor, and it’s included in your admission fees.”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” Xander said, and then yelped when Willow elbowed him hard in the side. Willow grinned at the lady and then dragged Xander away.

The rooms were apparently decorated in authentic Victorian style, with lots of little signs explaining what everything was, and how it was made, and what its significance was, all in mind-numbing detail. It took only a quick glance into the kitchen for Xander to be thankful he was a twenty-first-century man. No fridge. No microwave. No phone to call for pizza delivery. He would have starved.

The second floor had a music room and a sewing room and a smoking room, none of which sounded promising to him as entertainment possibilities. The Rose Salon had been a parlor, he thought. Now it was filled with about two dozen folding chairs, all facing a small table with books piled on top. No sign of the lecture yet, but then it was only a little past two.

There were bedrooms on the third floor, decorated with flowers and knickknacks and things covered in gilt. He wondered how so many people could have had such terrible taste for so long.

The largest of the bedrooms housed an enormous mahogany bed. Xander speculated on how the hell they ever managed to drag the thing up there, and he poked a little at the lumpy horsehair mattress. He noticed a small crack in the headboard and thought that they had better repair it soon, before the whole thing disintegrated. Willow, on the other hand, made a beeline to a glass-fronted cabinet that loomed along one wall. The cabinet was stuffed with small objects of a variety of shapes—china dogs, brass bowls, crystal vases, pewter picture frames, and so on. She stood very close and peered at the collection.

Bored, Xander slouched near the door, examining the workmanship of the wainscoting. He heard her inhale sharply. “Goddess! I think—”

But before the sentence was finished someone stepped into the room, and Xander came so close to fainting he had to grab the wall for support.

“Spike!”

  
[Chapter Two](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/196893.html)

 

  



	2. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (2/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 2 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).

   
 

**  
Two  
**

 

He looked different than the last time Xander had seen him, just before Sunnydale imploded. Not any older of course, or any tanner. But he’d stopped bleaching his hair, and now it was in short, dark-honey curls. The duster was gone too. He still wore tight black jeans and scuffed Docs, but with a crisp button-down in a deep maroon, undone slightly at the collar to reveal a hint of pale chest. His eyes were the same of course, piercing and blue; and there was that scar on his eyebrow, and those cheekbones.

He was looking at them both expectantly and a little impatiently. Xander was just gaping and when he turned his head to look at Willow, she was gaping too.

“You—you’re _dead_!” Xander finally managed.

“Well, yeah. Been that way for some time.”

“No, I mean—completely dead. Dusted.”

Spike shrugged. “Not so much.”

Willow took a step forward. “What are you doing here? And how?”

“Work here, don’t I?”

“You _work_ here?” Xander exclaimed.

“Curator. Expert on the Victorian era, you know.” He looked a little smug about it. Then he glanced at his wristwatch. “Look, I’ve a lecture in just a few minutes. Why don’t you follow me, and after we can have a bit of exposition over a few pints.”

Willow and Xander exchanged looks. The truth was, Xander's mind was whirling too much from this unexpected apparition for him to craft a coherent reply, and Willow seemed to be pretty much in the same boat. So they followed Spike out of the room and down the stairs and into the Rose Salon, where about three-quarters of the chairs were taken. Everyone turned and looked at them as they entered. Spike motioned Willow and Xander to some empty seats and addressed the crowd in a voice that carried. “Right, then. Lecture will begin in just a mo. Make yourselves comfortable. There’s tea and biscuits along the wall there.” And he ducked back out of the room.

A few people stood and wandered over to fill paper cups and snag some cookies, but Xander turned and stared at Willow. “What the _hell_, Will?”

“I guess…I guess he survived somehow.”

“But Buffy said he burned. And then the whole thing collapsed. C’mon, you saw. Nothing escaped from that.”

“I…I don’t know. I can call Buffy and ask if she knows anything.”

He shook his head. “No way she’d have gone eight years without at least casually mentioning it if she thought Spike was still alive. She still gets all moony on the anniversary of the battle.” He knew because each year on that evening he and Buffy sat together and toasted Anya and Spike and were good and maudlin for a few hours. “Let’s wait a while, see what he has to say.”

She nodded a little uncertainly, and just then Spike re-entered the room. He had some papers clutched in one hand and a pair of glasses tucked in his shirt pocket. He inclined his head slightly at Xander and Willow and strode to the front of the room.

“Spike’s going to _lecture_?” Xander whispered to Willow, and the woman in front of them turned around and glared. Willow just shrugged.

Spike perched his ass on the corner of the little table with the books and looked out at his audience. The woman in front of Xander sighed, and Xander had the impression that it wasn’t a yearning to learn more about Romantic literature that had brought her there today.

“Thank you for coming,” Spike said. “I’m William Pratt, and I’m an assistant curator here at the Bell. This afternoon we’re going to talk a bit about Romantic literature in Europe and the States. I’m going to tell you some things and read to you a bit, and then we’ll have some time for questions and comments. Now,” he pulled the glasses from his pocket, settled them on his nose, and glanced at the papers in his hand, “the Romantic Era began in the latter half of the 18th century, most likely as a reaction to the industrial revolution.”

Most of the audience—Willow included—seemed to get caught up in his lecture right away, although he quickly lost Xander. Xander had heard of a few of the authors Spike referred to—Poe and Hawthorne and Mary Shelley—but not the rest, and he had no clue what Spike meant when he talked about things like neoclassicism and rationalism. But still, Xander couldn’t help but be impressed with Spike’s obvious familiarity with the subject—the vampire referred to his notes only infrequently—and Xander liked the sound of his voice when he read short passages from the books. Even the poems sounded almost interesting, or at least a lot more interesting than when Mrs. Abernathy made the class read them out loud in 10th grade English class.

When Spike finally stopped speaking, the audience erupted into enthusiastic questions, and Spike handled them all adeptly. Finally though, he stood and glanced at his watch. Xander glanced at his too, and was surprised to see that it was almost 5 pm.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time,” Spike said. “Thank you for coming. I’ll be speaking again next Wednesday on gothic novels, and why Bram Stoker was a poncy git.” The audience laughed appreciatively. Most of them filed out, but a few stopped to thank Spike or ask him a quick question, so it was 5:15 by the time the three of them were alone in the room.

Spike put his glasses back in his pocket and walked over to Xander and Willow. “Well, now that you’re suitably educated, I expect you’re ready for the bit with the explanations. Know I could do with something to wet my throat.”

“Explanations would be very nice,” Willow said, standing. “Lots of them. And throat wetting—uh, you still have that soul, don’t you?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Would’ve drained you both by now if I hadn’t. Come along then.”

They followed him again, this time through a door marked Employees Only and down a back stairway. Xander expected to stop on the ground floor but they didn’t, instead continuing down into the basement, which was wonderfully cool. Spike unlocked another door and ushered them in.

They found themselves in what appeared to be a small apartment. There was an unfolded sofa bed, a small round table with two wooden chairs, and a tiny kitchenette. There was also a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, what looked to be an antique roll-top desk, and a shelf crammed with books. There were no windows, of course, but the painted brick walls were hung with framed photos, and the entire space was surprisingly cozy.

“Sorry,” Spike muttered, and he folded the bed back into a couch. “Wasn’t expecting company.” He gestured at them to sit, then walked to the little fridge and opened it up. “Have some bottles of Newcastle Brown here. Will that do?”

“Dandy by me,” Xander said, surprised at Spike’s gruff hospitality.

“No thanks,” Willow said.

“’T’s all I have, aside from A-Negative, and I reckon you won’t want that.” Then he looked thoughtful. “I could make you some tea.”

“Tea would be great. Thanks.”

So Spike filled a kettle and set it on his two-burner stove. He twisted the top off a pair of bottles and walked over to hand one to Xander. Xander took a deep, grateful swig. Spike did the same. None of them said anything for a while, as Spike fussed around a little: digging out a tea bag and mumbling about the lack of proper teapots, rinsing out a forest green mug with the Bell Museum logo, pouring the steaming water into the mug and plopping in the teabag, then handing it all to Willow along with a small white plate. “Sorry, no milk or sugar,” he said.

“This is fine. Thanks.”

Finally, Spike pulled one of the chairs away from the table and turned it around, then straddled it backwards so he was sitting facing them. He drank about half his beer in one long pull.

Xander couldn’t stand it any longer. “So what’s with the Happy Homemaker schtick from the supposed-to-be-finally-dead? What the hell is going on, Spike?”

 “You’re the ones showed up unannounced on my doorstep, Harris. I should be the one asking questions first.” Spike sighed melodramatically. “But let’s get this over with. After…after Sunnydale, I was brought back as a sort of ghost. Doomed to haunt Angel, as it turned out.”

Xander gave Willow a wide-eyed look. “Deadboy?” he said.

“Yeah. He was in LA, heading up a demonic law firm.”

“Oh, I heard about that,” Willow said with some relief. “Andrew told us.”

Spike frowned. “But the little ponce didn’t mention me?”

“No, just Angel. And, um, that girl, of course….”

“Dana,” Xander interrupted with a slight shudder. She’d scared the crap out of him. She still did, even though she’d had some pretty heavy-duty counseling—and, he suspected, a banquet of helpful pharmaceuticals—and for the last few years could even be counted on not to go irrationally homicidal. Mostly.

“Yeah, Dana,” Spike said, and rubbed at his wrists. “Well, I was there as well.” And then he told a succinct story about joining forces with Angel and fighting against the lawyers. They’d won the battle, but from the pinched look on Spike’s face Xander had the impression the cost of the victory had been high. Afterwards, the souled vampires had parted ways. Angel had continued his atonement bit, only as a solo act—Xander and Willow already knew that part—and Spike had wandered around the country for a while.

“Why didn’t you contact Buffy?” Xander asked. “She’s not that hard to find and she cries over you every May.”

Spike looked sharply at him. “Really?”

“Really. Official Kleenex wrangler here.”

Spike closed his eyes for a few moments and when he opened them again they were shiny. “Didn’t want to…. She’s better off mourning me, yeah?”

Xander didn’t disagree.

Spike stood and got a pair of fresh bottles from the fridge. Again he opened them and handed one to Xander before sinking back onto his chair.  “Have to keep blood on the table somehow, now that I don’t hunt. I took some odd jobs as I traveled. Bouncer, bartender…for nearly a year I worked in a morgue in Milwaukee. When I found myself in DC three years ago I visited the Bell. Open for late hours on Thursdays, you know. I was feeling a bit…nostalgic, I expect. This wanker was giving a tour of the place and he was getting all the details bollocksed up. Director heard me correcting him and we got to talking. He’s a good bloke. Offered me a position and this flat.”

“Does he know you’re a vampire?” Xander asked.

“Yeah. Told him straight off.” Spike grinned. “’T’s how he knows I’m an authentic expert. Besides, it works out well. I’m curator by day, security by night.” He looked thoughtful. “So you had no idea I was here then?”

“Not a clue,” replied Xander. “But now that I think of it, you didn’t look all that surprised to see us.”

“Was watching you on the security cameras since you came in, berk. Wondering what you lot were after. And now’s the bit where you give me the answer to that question.” He waited expectantly.

Xander looked at Willow. This was her mission, after all. She cleared her throat a little and began to speak. “We need Sevael, Spike.”

“And what the bloody hell is that?”

“He’s…he’s a demon.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s a little obscure. He’s sort of a guiding demon. He can guide humans safely through hell.”

Spike’s eyebrows flew up. “And why would a human fancy a holiday in hell? Been there, Red. It’s not Cancun.”

Willow shifted uncomfortably in her seat and paused so long that Spike looked very impatient. It was Xander who spoke next. “Um, Spike, have you kept in contact with Angel at all since LA?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “No. Why?”

“Because he’s what’s in hell!” Willow blurted.

“What?” Spike looked like he’d just been shot, and Xander had a moment to wonder exactly what their relationship had been like in LA.

“This really nasty bunch of demons sort of kidnapped him and they’ve been holding him hostage there,” Willow said. “They want Buffy to give them a free pass so nobody hunts them when they do their demony things—which, ew, gross, eyeball eating—and they won’t let Angel go unless she promises.”

Spike stood. His jaw was so tightly set that the muscles of his neck were corded, and he looked pissed enough that Xander _really_ hoped that soul was stuck on pretty well. “So the Slayer’s searching for Sevael so she can rescue her one true love.”

“Yes,” Willow said in a tiny voice.

Unexpectedly, Xander found himself feeling a little sorry for Spike. “I think she’s outgrown the one true love thing, Spike. She’s just feeling guilty over that time she sent him to hell herself, and she figures this is sorta her fault, too.” It was a guilt Xander was very familiar with, and part of the reason he’d agreed to join Willow on this particular mission.

But Spike didn’t look mollified. “You can’t allow the Slayer to go to hell!” he said fiercely.

“Not my top choice either, buddy, but do you really think anyone’s going to be able to stop her? You know her—she’ll find a way. At least Willow and Giles figure she’ll be a little safer with Sevael leading her.” Xander sounded more confident than he felt, mostly because he’d already had this argument several times, only then he’d been the one insisting that Buffy stay the hell out of hell.

Spike grimaced and turned away. “So why look here then?” he asked with his back to them. “I’m the only demon in residence.”

Willow answered. “According to our sources, a witch caught Sevael a couple hundred years ago. She was big with the dark magics and was up to no good. When he didn’t help her—wouldn’t or couldn’t, I’m not sure which—she zapped him.”

Spike turned around. “Zapped him?”

“Turned him into a statue. A little one, a…a figurine, really.”

“And you reckon the figurine is here?”

She nodded. “I did a scrying spell, so I know it’s on display somewhere in this city. We’ve looked in a lot of museums—”

“And how!” Xander interrupted, ignoring her glare.

“—and I’m pretty sure it’s here. I was looking at it when you came into the room, actually.”

Spike tilted his head. “Which one?”

“It’s that cloisonné thing, the blue and yellow one.”

“The one that looks like a constipated ostrich?”

“That’s the one.”

Spike put his empty ale bottle down in the sink and sat back down on his chair. He looked tired Xander thought, and old, which made Xander wonder what he himself must look like, considering that Xander was older now than Spike had been when he was turned.

“I need some time to think about this,” Spike finally said.

Willow nodded, but she said, “I don’t know how much longer Buffy’s gonna be patient about this. She’s not so good with the wait and see.”

Spike looked away for a moment. “Tomorrow. Give me until tomorrow evening.”

“Okay,” Willow said, and then she clapped a hand on Xander’s knee. “That gives us a day to tour the Library of Congress and the National Archives!”

Xander groaned.

  
[Chapter Three](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/197135.html)

 

 

 

 

 

  



	3. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (3/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 3 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).

 

**  
Three  
**

 

Over the course of 150 years Spike had learned some degree of self-control. He waited until Harris and the witch were gone before he had a tantrum.

“Bloody bog-trotting stupid careless Neanderthal _wanker_!” he snarled, and kicked the wall so hard only the Docs saved him from broken toes. Then he sank down onto his sofa and buried his face in his hands.

Seven years ago, as they were still licking their wounds from the battle with Wolfram &amp; Hart, he and Angel had decided that they would be happier apart. Not perfectly happy, no. Couldn’t have that. But less likely to stake one another. It wasn’t as if they didn’t love each other (not that they’d ever admitted that love). It was just that it was a truly fucked-up sort of love: all the nasty twists and turns of family ties, bundled up with a long history and loads of incestuous shagging. It was the sort of love that caused murder-suicides in humans.

Besides, Spike was weary of being ordered about like a sodding minion and was considerably less invested in the entire redemption scheme than was his grandsire. Spike wanted to try his best to lead a moral existence, maybe even help out the helpless a bit now and then. But he didn’t fancy any more crusades, and he refused to forge more tentative friendships only to see those friends killed in a disaster of his own making.

So Angel had gone abroad—to Sri Lanka, last Spike had heard—and Spike had stayed in the States, and they’d both hoped that an ocean was sufficient distance between them.

Apparently not.

Spike and Angel had talked about hell once, not too long before the battle. They were up in Angel’s penthouse and both completely pissed. Angel choked out a few details about the hundred years or so he’d spent there, and Spike had chimed in with a few choice bits from his lovely holiday after Sunnydale, not to mention the flashes he’d had from Pavayne. They’d shagged afterward, the slow writhing of their bodies together the only consolation they permitted themselves. It hadn’t been enough, but then what would be?

And now Angel was back there, and Christ knew how much time had passed for him in that dimension. The Slayer thought she was going to just traipse in and yank him out, like someone springing a wayward puppy from the dog pound. Spike still loved her, because his dead heart was constant that way, even though she’d never be his. He couldn’t allow her to go. But he couldn’t just leave Angel there.

He knew what alternative that left him.

“Fuck!” he shouted and kicked over his chair, and wished he had something worth breaking.

 

***

 

The Bell was open until eight on Thursdays and admission was free after four, so the little museum was often quite crowded those evenings. Little old ladies liked to visit and exclaim over all the items that they remembered from their grandparents’ homes, and university students came to sketch things or take notes or peruse the museum’s small but valuable library. Sometimes Spike lectured on Thursdays, and sometimes there was a film or a special exhibition. Generally, Spike enjoyed Thursdays.

This week, though, he was anxious for the last stragglers to leave. When the final blue-haired ladies and pierced and tattooed youths had gone, and Mrs. Dinwiddie, the woman who staffed the front desk, had laboriously collected her handbag and knitting and walking stick, Xander and Willow emerged from the library. Willow had spent the last hour or so leafing through books while the boy paced and mumbled and generally acted like a bored seven-year-old. Spike and the Scoobies gathered in the lobby just as the director emerged from his office.

The director smiled warmly at them. Sterling Allen was in his late fifties and looked more like a cowboy than a bloke who ran a museum: tall and wiry, with a deeply tanned face and a bit of a drawl in his voice. He always wore khaki trousers and denim shirts and refused to put on ties or jackets, which was fine with Spike.

“How are you folks doing this evenin’?” Allen asked.

“Brilliant. Erm, these are some old friends. It’s all right if we visit for a time down in my flat, innit?”

“Sure! You can give ‘em a private tour of the whole place, if you like.”

“Cheers.”

Allen turned slightly toward Xander and Willow. “Let me tell you, hiring William here was the best move I’ve ever made. Attendance on days he lectures is up twenty percent, and membership is up nearly fifteen. An editor buddy of mine has come to William’s talks a few times and now he’s after your friend to write a book or two.”

The others looked at Spike in surprise, and Spike was relieved he couldn’t blush.

“Spi—uh, William gave a really interesting talk yesterday,” Willow said. “I’d never heard him lecture before.”

“You’ve probably seen him more in action, huh?” Allen asked. Spike hadn’t divulged too many details about his life as a vampire, but his boss was at least aware that Spike hadn’t spent the last century and a half in museums.

“Yeah, when he was trying to kill us,” Xander muttered, fortunately quietly enough that only Spike heard him. Spike shot him a glare and Xander grinned back at him unrepentantly.

“Well, I have a dinner meeting. William, I’d like to chat with you in more detail about this year’s Christmas exhibit. Tuesday at four?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

With a quick round of goodbyes, the director left and the three of them had the museum to themselves.

“He seems nice,” Willow said.

Spike nodded.

Xander added, “A book. Impressive.”

“Look, Harris. I’m not an idiot. Had a good education before I was turned and I’ve seen loads of things, and I read a lot because it’s a good way to pass the daylight hours and, and—” In mid-rant he realized that Xander hadn’t been taking the piss, and he stuttered to a halt. “Let’s go upstairs,” he mumbled gruffly.

They walked silently up the first flight of stairs. As they began the second, Spike quietly asked, “Did you tell the Slayer? About me, I mean.”

“No,” Willow said. “We figured she’s got enough on her mind right now, and anyway maybe you wanted to tell her yourself.”

“I don’t…. She doesn’t need to know, does she?” He felt like a complete berk.

“Fangless,” Xander began. “I mean Spike. Sorry. Force of habit. We can’t keep you a secret forever. I mean, she’s gonna find out eventually and then she’ll be really ticked at us for not saying anything, and no way I’m ticking off a Slayer.”

By then they’d stepped off the stairway and into the hall. Spike sighed. “Fine. But it can wait until this is over.”

“Okay,” Xander said after a brief pause.

Spike used his keys to unlock the display case. With a glance at Spike for permission, Willow reached in and carefully removed the cloisonné figure. It really was hideous, Spike thought. He’d never paid it much attention before Wednesday. It had been in the case along with dozens of other gewgaws when he arrived at the Bell, and it had never interested him enough to merit more than a glance.

Now Willow turned the thing over in her hands, then cupped it between her palms and closed her eyes. She seemed to be concentrating on something only she could sense. Spike and Xander exchanged a glance that said neither of them had any idea what she was doing. Then she opened her eyes and smiled broadly. “This is it. Sevael.”

“Lovely. So what was your scheme? You un-hocus him and he’s so grateful he leads the Slayer into hell?”

“And back out,” Xander said. “Especially back out.”

At least they were in agreement on that, Spike thought. He took a deep breath and let it out and then, with his teeth gritted slightly, said, “It doesn’t have to be her, now, does it?”

“Huh?” Xander said.

“The one going in and out—of hell, I mean. Doesn’t have to be the Slayer. It could be someone else, someone who’s better suited to the territory. Someone who’s familiar with it perhaps.”

Xander’s mouth dropped open when he realized what Spike was saying. “You’re not—you’re not _volunteering_, are you?”

“Why not? Not as if I haven’t sacrificed myself before.”

Xander shook his head. “But that was— You don’t want us to even tell Buff you exist, but you still love her enough to do this for her?”

“No, I only—bloody hell!” Spike snarled at the impossibility of making himself understood. He wasn’t even certain himself why he’d offered, except that it felt right and he knew he’d never be able to unlive with himself if he didn’t. Stupid sodding soul.

Willow was looking thoughtful, but Xander was staring at him as if Spike had grown a second head. “Jesus Christ,” Xander said, with wonder in his voice.

“What?” Spike demanded.

“She was right.”

“About what?”

“I didn’t really see it then, not even after the eye, not even after the burning thing.”

“What are you bloody going on about?”

Xander smiled. “You’re a champion. Buffy said so back then—she still says so—but I always figured it was kind of a fluke, or maybe you wanted to show off for her, find a way to get back in her pants. But she was right.”

Spike could only blink in shock for a moment, and then duck his head. When he looked back up again, he couldn’t help a small grin. “Xander Harris calling me a champion. Must be time for another apocalypse.”

“Must be,” Xander agreed. There was a spark of warmth in his eye that Spike had never seen before, at least not directed at him. Suddenly, Spike had the conviction that he and Xander Harris were friends. And absurdly, that conviction, that spark in the man’s single eye, lit a small warming flame somewhere in Spike’s cold chest.

 

***

 

Willow took Sevael as they trooped all the way back down the stairs to Spike’s flat. They had some logistics to sort, and Spike reckoned they might as well do so sitting comfortably on his furniture, with his bottles of ale within easy reach. He made tea for the witch again and opened bottles for himself and Xander, and then Spike and Willow sat on the sofa and talked details.

Xander, however, wandered over to the bookshelf and tilted his head sideways to read the titles. He didn’t actually touch anything and Spike had the odd idea that the boy was trying to be polite, but it distracted Spike to see him moving out of the corner of his eye. “Bloody sit down already,” Spike finally snapped. “You’ll want to listen to the scheme.”

“Why? I mean, I know how it’s gonna go. Will’s gonna do her abracadabra and the statue’s gonna be dezapped, and then you’re gonna go traipsing off to hell and we’ll never see you or Angel again and then Buffy’s gonna skin me alive—no offense, Willow—for letting you do this.”

“You have a better idea, then?”

“Yep.” Xander took a big swallow from his bottle. “I go instead.”

“What?” Spike and Willow cried in unison.

“You heard me. There’s no special requirement for the rescue guy to have superpowers. It’s just an errand, like running by the store to pick up a half-gallon of milk. And hey, while you’re there, how about a dozen eggs, a bag of sugar, and a kidnapped vampire? I’m good at running errands. Didn’t you used to call me Donut Boy, Spike? And if things get fucked up in hell, I’m the most expendable. So I’ll go.”

“You’re not expendable, Alexander Lavelle Harris!” Willow said.

“Yeah, I really am. You’re uberwitch, not to mention computer girl _and_ a close runner-up to Giles for the research guy title. And Spike, much as it pains me to admit it, you’re a genuine hero, and heroes aren’t easy to come by. Plus Buffy loves you.”

“Buffy loves you, too, stupid,” Willow said. “And so do I.”

Xander walked closer and set a hand on her shoulder. “I know. And so does Dawn, and I bet even Giles is kinda attached. But you know, I’m everybody’s brother. That’s good, that’s cool. But nobody’s ever been passionate about me. Not the way Buff was for Angel and Spike, or you for Tara.”

Xander had a gentle smile as he said these things, but Spike wondered how much it must hurt him to admit this. No, Spike didn’t wonder. He _knew_ what it was like to hunger for that sort of love, and never expect to receive it. It was horrible.

“I won’t let you,” Willow said, her voice choked.

“Grown man here, Will. I can make these choices for myself.”

She shook her head. Xander glanced briefly at Spike, and when he did, Spike understood something more. Xander wasn’t a boy any longer. Hadn’t been for some time. For mortals, demon hunting was tough even on young bodies, and Xander was no longer so young. He wanted a chance to be a hero himself, perhaps his last chance.

Spike scooted over on the sofa so he was closer to them both. “This guiding demon of yours, Red. Can he guide two instead of one?”

And Xander gave him another look, a longer one this time, and the spark in his eye urged the flame in Spike’s chest into a roaring inferno.

[Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/198232.html)

 

 

 

 

 

  



	4. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (4/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 4 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).

  
  
 

**  
Four  
**

 

Willow continued to argue with them about it but it was two against one, and by the wee hours of the morning she wilted against the back of the couch in defeat. “This is _so_ not a good idea,” she moaned.

“None of it’s a good idea, Will. But we’re gonna do it anyway,” Xander said. Spike was perched on his kitchen chair again at that point and he nodded at Xander in agreement. It was kind of weird being on the same side as Spike, Xander thought, but then his entire life could be comfortably filed under weird.

Willow sighed. “When, then? Tomorrow? I don’t have the energy left tonight.”

Spike said, “No. Sunday night, because the Bell’s closed Mondays. And if I come back late or, erm, needing mending, nobody will be here to notice.”

“’Kay,” she answered without enthusiasm.

“You two can spend some time as tourists.”

“No!” Xander cried, alarmed. “She’s gonna drag me to more museums—if there are any more—and big buildings with lines and placards on the wall explaining stuff and glass cases and, and educational stuff. Oh, and monuments. Big, phallic monuments. I’d rather go to hell!”

Willow mustered enough energy for a truly evil glare, but Spike chuckled. “Tell you what. Red can tromp about and soak up some culture, and you can stay here and we'll organize a rescue scheme.”

Xander blinked at him in confusion, because planning was neither Spike’s forte nor his own, and anyway what was there to plan when they didn’t have a real clue what they’d be facing? But then Spike winked at him and Xander realized that the vampire was offering him an escape from forced tourism. Xander didn’t understand why, but then Spike had been full of surprises lately.

“Yeah, organizing!” Xander said too loudly. “We need to do lots of scheming and organizing and, uh, strategizing and plotting. Lots.”

Willow wasn’t fooled. “Fine,” she huffed. “But someday you’re gonna be sorry you didn’t see the Supreme Court when you had a chance, mister.”

“I’ll add it to my long list of regrets.”

Shortly afterwards, they dragged themselves up to the lobby. Xander expected Spike just to let them out, but instead the vampire walked outside with them and locked the door behind them. “Fancy a bit of a stroll,” he explained. And he walked them the mile or so to their hotel through streets that were mostly deserted, their footsteps loud on the pavement. Late as it was, it was still oppressively warm, the air like a damp wool blanket. Xander found himself longing for California’s wonderful lack of humidity. None of them spoke as they went but their silence was oddly companionable, and when Spike’s shoulder jostled into Xander’s a few times, neither of them cared.

“Nice digs,” Spike commented when they arrived at the hotel. He tilted his head to look up at the ornate ceiling. “You lot must have a bit of dosh.”

“Some,” Xander admitted. “I guess the Watchers’ Council had a pretty healthy bank account, and Giles knew how to access it.”

“Crafty old bugger.”

“Yeah. Um,” Xander glanced at Willow, who was practically asleep on her feet, “did you want to come up? Our room’s not as nice as the lobby, but—”

Spike got an odd look on his face. “Your room? Hadn’t realized you were a couple. Last I recall, Red here fancied her partners without the stick shift.”

Xander couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, and Willow rolled her eyes. “Still gay, Spike,” she said. “And hey, it must be catching because now Xander’s driving manual transmissions, and that’s just the stupidest euphemism ever.”

Spike looked amused. “She gayed you up, Xander?”

Why was Xander discussing his sexual orientation with a vampire in a hotel lobby at 3:30 am? He had no idea. “Yeah, Spike, I’m a genuine pansy homo fairy light-in-the-loafers ass-pirate. I am flying the rainbow flag.” He said it a little loudly and a passing bellboy had to hide a snicker. Then Xander waited for Spike’s inevitable jibes.

But Spike only grinned and turned on his heel and left.

Xander looked at Willow. “He’s like Shrek,” he said, bemused. “He’s got layers.”

 

***

 

Xander slept in the next morning, but Willow didn’t. She woke up bright and early and really frigging perky, and Xander wondered if she had some kind of horrible morning-person spell or something. She showered, then came and threw a pillow at his head. “You could still come with me now and meet up with Spike later, you know,” she said.

He faked a coma.

With a roll of her eyes—oh, he couldn’t see it, but he knew there was eye-rolling—she picked up her bag and left, pointedly slamming the door behind her. He went back to sleep and he stayed there until after almost one in the afternoon. He might have stayed in bed even longer, but by then the maid was vacuuming next door and Xander’s stomach was growling demandingly.

So Xander showered and shaved and dressed. He made a face as he pulled on his clothing. They hadn’t expected to be in DC for so long and neither of them wanted to pay the hotel’s exorbitant laundry fees, so they’d been washing their clothes in the bathroom sink. His underwear and t-shirt felt kind of stiff and scratchy and they smelled like Aveda soap.

He stopped at a food cart and sat on a bench in the Mall, munching on a Polish sausage. It was miserably hot again but there was a little shade here under the trees, and for a while he enjoyed watching the other tourists slog dutifully between the museums. He liked to make up little stories about them in his head, trying to guess where they were from, and who was gay and who was straight, and whether some of them were at least a little demony. It passed the time.

Finally he hoisted himself off the bench and made his way to the Bell. It was just past three and he wasn’t supposed to meet Spike until five, but he was bored.

The little old lady at the museum entrance recognized him. “Oh, you’re one of William’s friends! It’s so nice to see him have visitors for a change.”

“Spi-uh, William doesn’t get a lot of company, huh?”

She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You’re the first I’ve seen. It’s a shame, because he’s such a nice young man. And so lonely. I suppose his condition keeps him from meeting very many people, other than at the museum.”

“His condition?”

“Yes, his sunlight sensitivity.” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Perhaps I wasn’t supposed to say anything. But I thought, with you being old friends and all—”

“Oh, I knew about the sunlight thing,” Xander said, and the woman relaxed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here to see him.” She gave him a strange smile. “Now, this time of the afternoon he’s most likely in the library. Go right on through.”

Maybe because it was a Friday afternoon, Spike had the library to himself. He was sitting behind a large table, bent over a messy pile of papers and books. His glasses were perched on his nose and he had a pen in his mouth. Today he was wearing a royal blue shirt with a black t-shirt underneath. He looked up when Xander entered the room, took the pen from his mouth and, to Xander’s surprise, smiled broadly. “You’re early,” he said.

“Yeah. I got kinda bored, and…. If I’m interrupting, I can go away for a while. I think I saw a bar down the street.”

But Spike stood, tucked his glasses away, closed his books, and began to shuffle the papers into a pile. “No, ‘t’s fine. Not like I punch a time clock.”

As Spike reshelved the books and finished collecting his things, Xander reflected on the fact that Spike actually seemed happy to see him. The lady at the desk had said Spike was lonely. He must have been pretty hard up for company to be pleased about Xander. But then, Spike had always been oddly sociable for a vampire. He might have hung around in the background making snarky comments, but he could have left Sunnydale and, even with the chip, would probably have found a way to stay fed. Yet he had seemed drawn to the Scoobies even before he fell in love with Buffy. Maybe he was lonely then, too, and had nowhere else to turn.

Spike joined him at the library doorway. “Still a bit too sunny outside for me, I’m afraid. But I’ve more ale in my fridge.”

“Sounds good to me. I’d rather not step outside of the AC anyway.”

Spike carried his papers tucked under his arm as they made their way to the back stairs. “Were you researching something about Sevael?” Xander asked.

“No. We haven’t any books on the occult here, and I reckon your witch knows enough to get us to hell in any case.” Spike unlocked the basement door and they went in. Xander settled himself comfortably on the couch while Spike set his papers on the shelf and headed for the kitchenette.

“So what were you studying so carefully?” Xander asked.

“Manufacturers of Victorian Christmas ornaments.”

“Um…why?”

Spike handed him an opened bottle of beer and sat down beside him. “Getting some ideas. If we survive our errand, I’ll be helping organize the Bell’s holiday displays. Christmas is a big holiday at the museum—loads of people fancy seeing how the Victorians celebrated the holiday.”

“And…you don’t think that’s a little strange? A demon decorating for Christmas?”

Spike frowned down at his beer. “I do recall what it was like when I was human. My mum loved Christmas. She and Mrs. Grogan—she was our housekeeper—would plan for weeks. Always made sure I had some special treats, even after I was grown.” He picked at the label unhappily, and Xander wondered when Spike had begun appearing so goddamn human. Then Spike looked up at Xander. “You didn’t much fancy Christmas, as I recall.”

Xander was surprised by Spike again, this time because Spike had noticed him back then. “It was another excuse for drunken relatives, mostly. I always got the same presents from my parents: a pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, packages of socks and underwear, and an empty booze bottle shaped like a car or something. Hanukkah was more fun actually, because I’d celebrate with Willow, and her folks always gave me a couple bags of those chocolate coins. And jelly donuts. They always had jelly donuts.” And that was a memory he hadn’t dredged up in years.

“See? Donut Boy,” Spike said, but with a little smile, as if he didn’t want Xander to take offense. Then he reached over and picked up a remote and started clicking through channels on his TV.

Xander settled back a little more comfortably on the cushions and gazed around the room. He really hadn’t paid much attention to the details before. It was a basement, of course, and fairly small, but not even in the same league as his parents’ old pit. This place was comfortable. Homey. Nicer than pretty much any place he’d lived since Sunnydale. The brick walls had been painted a warm beige and the photos that hung there were old black and white city scenes. There wasn’t much in the way of clutter, no knickknacks or anything, but all the books on the shelf looked like they’d been read many times, and there was a big stack of CDs in one corner of the room. The little apartment looked lived in, Xander realized, occupied by a real person with particular tastes and ordinary, everyday desires.

Xander re-angled himself so he had a better view of Spike, who seemed to be engrossed in Shark Week. “You like working here, don’t you?” Xander said.

Spike turned his head to look at Xander. “Yeah. So?”

“Don’t you want more excitement?”

Spike snorted. “Had plenty enough of that for several lifetimes, I expect. Once in a while I head to a demon bar I know in Georgetown, get in a bit of a brawl perhaps. And my blood source lets me know if any vamps move into town and I sort them. But the Bell, it’s…. I’m good at this, yeah? Never reckoned I’d be good at much of anything besides fighting, but I am.”

Xander understood. The satisfaction of a job well done. He’d felt it himself on those occasions when he’d been able to hold down a construction job for a while. The simple pleasure of knowing you’d done something right. And more—being appreciated by others as well. “The museum people seem to think you’re pretty hot shit,” he said.

Spike shrugged as if that didn’t matter, but he couldn’t quite hide a small quirk of the lips.

Xander sipped at his beer for a moment. “That lady at the front desk—”

“Mrs. Dinwiddie.”

“Mrs. Dinwiddie. She seems to like you, too.”

“Has no idea I’m a vampire. She kept trying to set me up with her great-niece, so I finally told her I fancy men.”

“You told her you’re gay?”

“Reckoned it might stop the matchmaking attempts. Didn’t though. Now she says I ought to go have a drink with her neighbor’s son.”

“Oh!” Xander exclaimed. “That’s why—”

“What?”

“I think Mrs. Dinwiddie thinks you and I are an item.”

Spike tilted his head and gave Xander a careful look. “That bother you?”

“Um, no. I mean, totally out of the closet here, and why should I care what Mrs. Dinwiddie thinks anyway?”

“Do you have a….”

“A fellow? A beau?” Xander shook his head. “Nope. Had a couple for a little while, but it didn’t work out. The whole demon-hunting thing tends to get in the way. Especially when I’m actually dating a demon, which has happened an amazingly large number of times.” It was more than a little odd to be having this conversation with Spike, but maybe Spike was just looking for ways to pass the time. Or looking for future ammo.

But Spike didn’t say anything more just then. He turned back towards the screen and then for a while they both watched _Shark Attack Survival Guide_. Which was kind of stupid, considering that even if they didn’t get stuck in hell, Xander was much more likely to get attacked by a toothy demon than a toothy fish. And if a Great White ever took a bite out of Spike, Spike was perfectly capable of biting right back. But it was fun, and they laughed together, and after a while Spike had a pizza delivered and ate a couple of the slices himself.

When it was really late, Xander stretched and tried to gather enough energy to actually dislodge himself from the couch. “I should go,” he said regretfully, because he’d actually been having a good time.

Spike opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Stay here, Xander.”

“Huh?”

“You can have my bed. I don’t sleep much anyhow.”

“But…why?”

Xander could have sworn Spike looked embarrassed. “We’re likely going to die soon, and death might stick with you. A bloke shouldn’t spend his last few days of life in a Marriott.”

Honestly, Xander agreed. He knew already: last hours should be spent with loved ones at home. And since he didn’t really have much of either at this point, maybe a borrowed home was good enough. “Okay,” he said.

Spike answered him with a blinding smile.

Not long afterwards, he helped Spike pull out the bed. “Can put fresh sheets on if you like,” Spike said.

“Nah. I can handle a few vamp cooties.”

While Xander called Willow to tell her what was going on—and secretly rejoiced because he’d obviously awakened her—Spike left. He said he had to go get a few things. After Xander hung up, he opened the door that he’d already learned led to a small bathroom. The bathroom had a toilet and sink and tiny shower. No mirror or toilet paper, but of course Spike didn’t need either. Xander decided to take a quick shower because, even hours after coming inside, he still felt kind of sweaty and sticky. His clothing was gross, too, but he’d noticed that Spike had a little washing machine and dryer, and Xander decided to ask if he could borrow them.

Just as Xander emerged from the bathroom in his underwear, with the rest of his clothing in his arms, Spike returned. Spike was carrying a white plastic bag. The vampire gave Xander’s damp body a long look, then tossed him the bag. “Here,” he said a little gruffly. “Human shite.”

Xander peeked inside the bag, which proved to contain a toothbrush and small tube of Crest, a blue plastic comb, and a four-pack of Charmin. “Thanks. I used your towels. Hope that’s okay. And, actually, is it okay if I do some laundry?”

“Suit yourself,” Spike said. He pulled a book from the shelf, sat down at the table, and appeared to read while Xander started the wash and went to brush his teeth. When Xander came back, a cup of steaming tea had materialized on the table next to Spike’s book, and the glasses were back on Spike’s face.

“I didn’t think vampires needed glasses,” Xander said.

Spike gave him an irritated look. “They do when they’re wearing human faces and trying to read. Well, some do. Getting turned won’t correct an astigmatism.”

“It wouldn’t make a missing eye grow back, either, would it?”

“’Fraid not.” Spike frowned at him a little. “Hadn’t realized you were considering it, Xander.”

“I’m not. “ Xander pulled the blankets back and climbed into bed. “Just wondered, is all.” He yawned hugely. “Hey, are you really sure it’s okay for me to hog your bed?”

Spike smiled slightly. “Don’t have a recliner to tie you into, do I?”

“Guess not,” Xander chuckled. “But look. If you want to share, I promise I won’t bite. Or infect you with my gayness or anything.”

Spike looked at him silently for a long time. Then he slurped the last of his tea and set his glasses on the table. He stood and, with more grace than any stripper Xander had ever seen, he pulled off his shirts and then his jeans, leaving them in a little pile on the floor. He didn’t wear any underwear and his body was gorgeous and perfect. In order to avoid embarrassing himself completely, Xander had to close his eye and pretend to be trying to sleep.

A moment later the light clicked off and the mattress dipped as Spike climbed in beside him. They lay back to back, with Spike tugging at the blankets a little. And then, just as sleep was beginning to fuzz Xander’s brain, he thought he heard Spike whisper. “Who says I’m not already infected?”

[Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/198470.html)

 

 

 

 

  



	5. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (5/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 5 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).  
 

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000phfhc/)

 

**  
Five  
**

 

Spike didn’t fall asleep for a long time. It wasn’t because Xander snored, although he did—loudly. It was because it had been ages since Spike had shared a bed with anyone, and even longer since he’d had a sleeping human in bed with him. Body heat warmed the bed and a steady, slow heartbeat thumped away like a lullaby.

When Spike was certain that Xander was fast asleep, he carefully rolled over and he gazed at the broad back only inches away. He might still need his specs to read, but even his human eyes could see well in the dark; and now he could admire the smooth skin that stretched over strong muscles, the dark hair that brushed across a tanned neck. Spike’s fingers itched to reach out, to touch, to stroke, so that he had to clench his hands into fists and shove them behind his own back.

This was Xander Harris. He hadn’t forgotten that. But he’d once fallen in love with his mortal enemy. Was it any more of a stretch for him to ache for this man, who’d once been a nuisance of a boy, but had now grown up so nicely? No, but it was just as foolish. Perhaps more so. Because while Xander might have inadvertently dated some demons, he didn’t have the darkness inside him that Spike had sensed in Buffy all those years ago, and which had allowed Buffy to seek release with Spike. Despite his mostly horrible life and a well-earned streak of bitterness, Xander was sunshine and light. If Spike touched him, Spike would burn again.

So Spike just watched the gentle movements of Xander’s body as he breathed, and he scooted a bit closer on the sheets and inhaled deeply. Eventually Spike slept as well. If he had any dreams, he didn’t remember them in the morning.

 

***

 

He awoke to soft laughter. When he opened his eyes, Xander was propped next to him on one elbow, his face covered with morning stubble and his one eye sparkling with humor.

“What?” Spike demanded.

“Your hair. I guess vamps aren’t immune to bedhead.”

“Oi!” Self-consciously, Spike put up a hand to feel at his hair. That made Xander laugh harder, and so Spike lunged at him. But Xander proved surprisingly fast—thanks to years of escaping demons, no doubt—and managed to scramble out of bed unscathed. Spike threw a pillow at him, but it bounced off Xander’s boxer-covered arse and Xander only laughed harder as he made his way to the loo.

As the shower started up—Xander did fancy being clean, Spike had to give him credit for that—Spike scooted over a bit on the mattress and wrapped his arms about the pillow Xander had used. Spike dozed off again surrounded by Xander’s scent. He woke up when Xander emerged with a towel wrapped around his hips.

“Forgot I put my clothes in the wash,” Xander said, blushing slightly.

“They’re in the dryer now. Put them in while you were asleep.”

“Wow. You do laundry, too,” Xander grinned.

But then it was Spike’s turn to grin as Xander bent over to retrieve his clothing from the dryer, but dropped the towel in the process. He had a lovely arse, Spike thought, firm and round. Spike sighed and closed his eyes. He heard Xander scurrying back into the loo.

Spike opened his eyes when Xander came out of the loo again and stood uncertainly in the middle of the flat. “Have a busy day in mind?” Spike asked.

“Not really. I’ll go check and see how Willow’s doing, I guess. And if your invitation for a temp roomie still stands, I thought I’d go get my stuff from the hotel. I have more laundry to do.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“I don’t want to be a pain in the ass. How long today should I stay out of your hair?”

“Come back whenever you like. I’ve some work to do, but I’ll leave a key to the flat with Mrs. Dinwiddie. Help yourself to the telly. I’ve some DVDs in that cupboard,” Spike pointed.

Xander’s smile made his whole face light up. “Thanks.”

Spike spent the afternoon doing more research. He also met with a few of the new docents and gave them a bit of a lesson on Victorian cookery, and he rang an antiques dealer in Kansas City to wrangle over an exquisite sewing table that the bloke had been offering on eBay, and which Spike thought might be a nice addition to one of the bedrooms. The bloke wanted far more than the thing was worth, though, and wouldn’t budge much on the price, so Spike noted his phone number and resolved to try him again after his return. Perhaps the seller would be more flexible when the thing still hadn’t sold by then. Of course, Spike himself might be dust by that point, but just in case, he jotted a reminder in his day planner to ring again in two weeks.

It was a productive day, but Spike felt restless and distracted. When he was making his way down the stairs toward the lobby around four o’clock, and he heard Xander’s familiar voice, Spike smiled and nearly ran the rest of the way.

Xander was chatting with Mrs. Dinwiddie. He had a dark green duffel bag slung over one shoulder and two plastic bags clutched in one hand. His blue t-shirt was sticking to his back with sweat and the bits around his eyepatch straps looked red and irritated. Spike wished he could pull the sodding thing off and soothe the inflamed skin. Xander caught sight of Spike and there was that sunny smile again.

“Hey, Sp—William. Good day?”

Spike nodded. “And you avoided cultural institutions?”

“Completely. Willow’s fallen in love with the Library of Congress so she’s good. I don’t know if they’re ever gonna drag her out of there. I hung out at Starbucks, mostly.”

“So you’ve a near-lethal dose of caffeine running through your veins now?”

“Pretty much. And sugar. Don’t forget the sugar.”

Mrs. Dinwiddie had been following their interchange closely. “So, Xander,” she said with a glance at his suitcase. “You must be planning to visit our William a while longer.”

Xander paused for a moment, then turned toward Spike and raised both eyebrows questioningly. Spike had to suppress a smirk, and he nodded. Xander turned back to Mrs. Dinwiddie and leaned a bit over the reception desk. “Actually,” he said in a whisper Spike could hear perfectly well, “I’m here to sweep our William off his feet and get into his pants.”

The old broad actually blushed a bit and _giggled_, and she covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she stage-whispered back. “Good luck!” She slid the key to the basement across to him.

Xander turned his head and winked at Spike, which looked a bit odd with the missing eye.

Mrs. Dinwiddie looked at them a bit dreamily as Xander strode over to Spike and Spike slung an arm around his waist. Spike was pretending it was for Mrs. Dinwiddie’s benefit, part of the charade Xander had created, but Xander felt _good_ against him and didn’t try to move away. Not even when they’d gone down the hall and out of her sight.

At the door to the back stairway, Spike finally detached himself and they stood a bit awkwardly. “I’ve some more work to do—”

“Hey, no problemo. I’m gonna hide out in your basement—which is possibly the chilliest spot in the city, hallelujah—and do laundry and veg out. If that’s okay.”

“Mi casa es su casa.”

“Gracias.”

Xander went down the stairs and Spike returned to the library.

It was past six when Spike returned to his flat. As soon as he opened the door, he was nearly overcome with the odors of food. He paused in surprise, and Xander turned from Spike’s tiny cooker and smiled a bit shyly. “I hope you don’t mind me whipping some dinner up. I am so over takeout food.”

“You _cook_?”

Xander pretended to be offended. “Do I cook? Of _course_ I do! Well actually I have a pretty limited repertoire, but I do make these killer burgers. And I do mean killer, because they’ll take out the roof of your mouth, and I once used them to murder a Fergulli demon. No joke.” He paused a moment. “Um…you don’t have to have one. I won’t be offended or anything. I mean, I know you eat sometimes, but—”

Spike came closer. “I’ll have mine very rare.”

Christ, Spike could fall for the bloke over that smile alone. “One extra-bloody killer burger a la Harris, coming right up.”

Spike noticed then that his little table was set for two, including fresh bottles of Newcastle sweating temptingly. Hadn’t they drunk the last of the ale the night before? There was also a plain white box of the sort shirts were sometimes wrapped in. “SPIKE” was scrawled across the top in black ink and horrifyingly bad penmanship.

Spike sat down in one of his chairs; a minute later, Xander brought over a pair of laden dishes and set one in front of Spike before sitting down himself. A huge hamburger on an onion roll was on the plate, as was a tottering pile of barbeque potato crisps. Spike looked down at all the things in front of him and then, questioningly, up at Xander.

Xander blushed. Glancing at the box he said, “It’s kind of, um, a hostess gift. A thank you for freeing me from touristic servitude and the terrible confines of the Marriott. Plus I was kinda bored today and I found the Apple store.”

Spike reached over, picked up the box, and lifted the lid. An electronic device was nestled inside. Spike looked up at Xander in bewilderment.

“It’s an iPad. Willow has one and she’s crazy about it. I thought you might want to use it for some of your research—you can surf the Internet with it. Or, you know, you could just listen to music on it.” He rubbed his eye nervously. “I’ve sort of already loaded it with some songs.”

When was the last time Spike had been completely speechless?

But his lack of response must have distressed Xander, who cleared his throat and rubbed even harder at that sodding eyepatch. “Hey, if you don’t like it, no biggie. You can return it, probably, or—”

“These are expensive,” Spike interrupted.

“They’re not bad. Anyway, I have a few bucks saved up, and what’s the chance I’m going to need them after tomorrow?”

Spike couldn’t look at him, or else he’d burst into tears like a bloody schoolgirl. “’T’s brilliant,” he said very quietly. “Cheers.”

He could sense Xander relaxing. “Sure. Hey, let’s dig in. Killer burgers are better when they’re piping hot.”

More carefully than if he were handling some priceless antique, Spike set the box aside. Still unable to meet Xander’s eye, he picked up his burger and took a big bite. “Bloody hell!” he exploded. “What’s in this? Holy water?”

“No, although I’ll keep that in mind for the future. The secret ingredients here, my friend, are chipotles, which give it that smoky little burn, and habaneros, which add the fruity fire. And I’m all about the fruity nowadays.” And as if to prove that he could, he took an enormous bite. His eye watered but he kept on chewing, and after he’d swallowed, he bit again.

The meat burned Spike’s mouth like the sun. But the thing was, it was also really bloody tasty. Spike mostly ate human food for the texture and for a bit of variety, but this was delicious, with the barely cooked beef—and it wasn’t cheap stuff, he realized—mixing brilliantly with the chilies and whatever spices Xander had mixed in. Spike grinned like a maniac and took a huge bite of his own.

When the hamburger and crisps were gone, Spike dispensed with all vestiges of manners and licked his fingers clean of the juices and the barbeque spices. But when he glanced up, Xander was frozen in mid-swig, watching him, his eye slightly glazed and his face flushed from more than capsaicin.

The flame within Spike, which Xander had lit the other day just by looking at him, roared into an inferno.

Spike leapt to his feet so quickly he knocked his chair backward. He ignored it. He zoomed around the table and pulled Xander upright—heedless of the way Xander’s bottle fell from the man’s fingers and spilled onto the floor—and dragged him into a crushing embrace. Spike pressed his mouth greedily against Xander’s.

For a moment Xander stood stiff and still, and Spike was afraid he’d made a serious error. But then Xander exhaled against him, the sound like a heavy sigh, and the tension fled Xander’s solid body before quickly becoming another sort of tension altogether.

To Spike’s complete astonishment, Xander took charge. He thrust his tongue into Spike’s mouth, scraping it behind Spike’s teeth and then around in a sinuous tangle. At the same time, his big hands settled heavy and hot on Spike’s back; and he used his chest and legs to push Spike backward across the room, until Spike toppled back against the sofa with Xander falling on top of him. Only then did Xander pull his face away to look down at Spike, panting. They were both panting, actually, and Spike could almost swear there were sparks shooting from Xander’s eye.

“Merciful Zeus,” Xander said. “Spike, do you want—”

“Christ, yes!” Spike reached up and yanked the patch off Xander’s head. As he did so, Spike’s fingers caught in Xander’s hair and Xander yelped a bit but he didn’t move away, and then they were kissing again, tasting each other, clumsy and desperate and ravenous.

Spike grabbed fistfuls of Xander’s shirt and tore it down the center. He placed his palms against Xander’s heaving chest, feeling the speeding heartbeat, the energy, the life of him. Xander must have fancied the idea, because he ripped at Spike’s shirt as well—and it was a good shirt. Expensive. But Spike didn’t mourn as buttons popped and silk shredded, because then they were chest-to-chest, muscles against muscles, cold meeting hot.

When Xander pulled away again he was smiling. “I fantasized about this once or twice, you know.”

“I didn’t. I mean, not until the other day, and then…. What have you done to me, Xander?”

“Not much. Yet,” Xander said with a leer; and that made Spike laugh, which felt so bloody brilliant. Because this didn’t have to be about angst and drama. Yeah, fine, they were going to hell in about 24 hours. But for now, for this night, this could be about pleasure and…and about _joy_. Spike laughed again with the sheer delight of it, but his laughter turned to moans when Xander ducked his head and nibbled on Spike’s neck, all the while grinding his groin against Spike’s, both their hardnesses obvious through layers of cotton.

“Bloody _hell_!” Spike gasped as Xander bit down rather hard, sending a shudder down Spike’s spine. “Where did you learn _that_?”

“Told you. I’ve dated a lot of demons. And…I may have sneaked a look or two at the naughty parts of the Watchers’ Diaries, back in the day. Also, I was a hyena once.”

Spike was going to ask him to elaborate on that last bit—a hyena?—but they were kissing again, running fingers through one another’s hair, rocking their bodies gently together. Xander broke the kiss first, only to trail his lips across Spike’s jawline, down his throat, onto his chest. He flicked at a hardened nipple with his tongue, making Spike gasp. “Haven’t done this in ages,” Spike said.

Xander looked up at him. “Done what?”

“Shagged a bloke. Or, well, shagged anyone at all, actually.” He felt like a complete git for admitting it, but he also felt that all too soon he’d lose control completely and come in his trousers like a randy teenager.

“It’s been about a year for me. But I bet it’s like riding a bike.”

Spike grinned. “’D rather ride you.”

“That can so be arranged.”

They fumbled at each other’s trousers. They were both over-eager and it was awkward, and Spike momentarily wished he were wearing something with an elastic waist. But eventually buttons and zippers were unfastened and shoes kicked off, and Spike’s trousers and Xander’s shorts were in a tangled pile on the floor while their owners were in a tangled pile on the sofa.

Spike wanted to take his time. He wanted to run his fingers over every inch of Xander’s skin, memorizing the feel of him. He wanted to take all night, listening to Xander begging for more, trying out every position an inventive mind and over a century's worth of experience could come up with. But Xander grasped both their cocks in his calloused hand and stroked, and Spike knew he wasn’t going to last. It was ridiculous, an immortal being feeling pressed for time, but he was, oh God, he was.

“S-slick,” Spike stuttered.

“Mmmm, wha’?” Xander looked pretty far gone himself.

“I think I’ve some slick. Get off me and I’ll go see.”

Xander nodded eagerly and peeled himself away. But as Spike stood, Xander looked suddenly stricken and he grabbed Spike’s arm. “Shit!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Rubbers!”

Spike was not at his most mentally acute just then. “It’s not raining, love.”

Xander frowned and then rolled his eyes. “Rubbers. Condoms. French letters. Um, jimmy hats. Protection. I don’t have any. Christ, how far to the nearest pharmacy?”

Spike laughed. When had he last laughed so freely? “Xander. Neither of us can catch anything from the other and I doubt that pregnancy is a worry. Why do we need a condom?”

Xander seemed to think about this for a moment, and then he grinned. “You said something about lube?”

Spike ran for the loo, where he sometimes kept a bottle of slick to use when he wanked. He found the half-empty bottle under the sink, behind the stack of spare towels. He grabbed it gratefully and ran back into the main room, just as Xander was finishing pulling out the bed.

Perhaps he expected some awkwardness after their little intermission, but they immediately moved into a mutual embrace and it was if there had been no interruption at all. “Pet,” Spike said breathlessly, “if you you’re going to use that slick, I reckon it ought to be soon.”

“Hmm,” Xander said into the crook of Spike’s neck. But he gently pushed Spike back on the mattress and, when Spike immediately lifted his knees, Xander pressed a slippery finger against Spike’s entrance and then inside. “I’m thinking of baseball right now,” Xander said against Spike’s thigh. “Baseball and algebra and…and—”

“Chaos demons. Bloody slimy antlers. The Immortal, the great tosser.”

Xander inserted a second finger and crooked them just so. “Andrew. That demon that paralyzed Dawn and ate Willow’s skin—what was that thing?”

“Gnarl.”

“Yeah. Gnarl. Raw pig.”

“B-Bram Stoker,” Spike stuttered, because even that wasn’t working and he had to fight to keep himself from hauling Xander up and impaling himself at once. “Miss Edith and the bleeding pixies.”

With a grunt, Xander withdrew his fingers and climbed up Spike’s body. “The Postal Museum,” Xander said, then lined up the head of his cock and pushed inside.

After that, no amount of distasteful mental images were going to stop the inevitable, or even slow it down. Xander thrust, Spike writhed. Xander sheathed himself fully and began to pound inside Spike, and Spike wrapped his legs about Xander’s waist and dug his fingers into Xander’s shoulders; and they both moaned and swore and finally just howled, and Spike fell apart completely.

He came fully to his senses a few minutes later, he reckoned. He wasn’t certain how, but they’d managed to arrange themselves side by side on the bed, with Xander’s larger body cocooning Spike from behind. The blankets were pulled up over their chests and Xander’s arm was heavy atop Spike’s flank. It felt lovely.

[Chapter Six](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/198678.html)

 

  
 

  



	6. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (6/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 6 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).  
 

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000phfhc/)   


**  
Six  
**

 

“Now I know how you got your nickname,” Xander said into Spike’s ear. At the same time, he reached around Spike’s sharp hip to fondle his awakening cock.

Spike blinked and stirred, pressing back against Xander’s morning wood. “Might suit you as well,” Spike said sleepily. His body was warm with heat he’d stolen from Xander all night, and he nestled comfortably in Xander’s arms as if they were meant to fit together.

“No second thoughts this morning?” Xander asked. “No regrets? ‘Cause we weren’t drunk or anything, but—”

Spike squirmed around so their faces were very close together. “No regrets at all. Well, I rather wish I’d had you sooner, but….” He looked very serious. “You?”

“Nope. I have to say, you kinda took me by surprise, though. Did you want a story to tell Mrs. Dinwiddie?”

Spike smirked. “Old girl’d probably fancy some photos instead.”

They lay together for a while, hands idly wandering over each other’s skin. Spike had a truly spectacular ass, Xander thought, and up close like this his eyes were about a dozen shades of blue. Xander had experienced a few awkward mornings-after, but this wasn’t one of them. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that they’d be going to hell in less than twelve hours, he would have felt ridiculously content.

After a while their mutual caresses grew a little more goal-oriented, and that was fine. Spike grinned wickedly at Xander and then clambered on top of him, stem to stern, so that Spike’s now no-longer-soft cock was brushing against Xander’s lips and Spike’s tongue was licking delicately at the crown of Xander’s hard-on. Xander had to revise his earlier thought—that ass wasn’t just spectacular, it was magnificent. But as it turned out, Spike’s ability to deep-throat was even more impressive than his backside.

Spike seemed pretty damn pleased about Xander’s skills too, which was flattering considering Xander actually had to breathe.

Xander would have preferred to stay in bed all day and, by the looks of things, Spike would have liked that idea too. But Xander had a few loose ends to tie, since it was poor form to head to one’s doom with details left undone. So after he and Spike came—and Spike flipped back around to lick approvingly at Xander’s jawline, and Xander caught his breath and gathered his remaining brain cells—Xander finally gave Spike a loud smooch on the cheek and slapped his pretty ass. “Things to do, places to go,” Xander said, hauling himself upright.

“Could do me,” Spike leered.

“The spirit is willing, oh undead one, but the flesh is totally wiped.”

Spike nodded unhappily. “Reckon I ought to sort some things this afternoon as well.”

Xander started to the bathroom, then stopped. “Um, Spike? That wasn’t last-gasp in-the-face-of-death fucking, was it? ‘Cause, nothing against apocalypse sex, but in case we do survive—”

“Pet, when we get out of hell I’ll shag you completely blind and you won’t walk straight for a week. How’s that?”

Xander grinned. “That sounds like an excellent incentive to escape from the netherworld.” Then he had another thought. “Uh, assuming we do live and there’s lots of non-catastrophic sex and all, how do you feel about stuff that’s a little, uh, kinky?”

Spike lifted a single eyebrow. “Kinky?”

Xander felt his face go red. “I spent a couple years with Anya, remember? And she was kind of inventive—I guess a millenium’ll do that for you—and, well….”

“What’d you have in mind?” Spike asked.

“Nothing too extreme. I mean, banging a same-sex demon, that’s already a little unusual. But maybe a couple ropes or chains. A little, um, spanking….” His voice trailed off.

“Giving or receiving, love?”

“Preferably? Some of each.”

Spike smiled broadly. “Sounds lovely.”

“Really?”

“Vampire here. What’d you expect?”

“Well, none of this, actually.” He waved his hands around a little. “Not that I’m complaining. But I wouldn’t have predicted it.”

Spike shrugged, which on account of him being naked was much more fascinating than Xander would have guessed. “Unlife’s full of surprises.”

Xander nodded in agreement and made his way towards the shower. When he emerged from the bathroom, still slightly drippy, Spike brushed past him on the way to his own turn. “Seven o’clock, Xan?”

Xander hid the way his breath hitched at the nickname. “On the dot.”

Xander got dressed and slipped on his eyepatch and headed out of the basement. Mrs. Dinwiddie was there at the front desk, and she gave him a toothy smile. “Did you sweep him off his feet?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m not a kiss and tell kind of guy,” Xander said, then leaned over the desk and whispered loudly, “but he is _so_ swept.”

She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, darling, I’m so happy to hear that! Poor William—he needs someone, you know?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

The heat outside hit him like a fist. A few more degrees and he wouldn’t need Sevael to experience hellfire. Even the locals looked wilted. A bicycle cop pedaled slowly past, his uniform soaking with sweat and his face bright red. Maybe there were worse jobs than demon-hunting after all.

Xander made his way to a sandwich shop and ordered an enormous iced tea and a ham and cheese on flatbread. He really wasn’t all that hungry with his stomach tied in apprehensive knots, but he figured going to hell on an empty belly was a bad idea. What if all they had to eat there was Brussels sprouts and lima beans? He ate slowly, watching the other patrons as they chatted and nibbled and texted. A few tables down, a group of women in their thirties were giggling over some photos, while an intense-looking man in dreadlocks was sitting by the window and scribbling furiously in a notebook.

After the last of the sandwich was gone, Xander pulled out his phone.

“Xander Harris! Where have you been!” Willow sounded a little shrill.

“You knew I was at Spike’s, Will.”

“But your phone was off.”

“I wanted…I wanted a little peace and quiet, okay?”

She was silent for a long moment. “Have you changed your mind? You still don’t have to do this, you know. Spike could go alone. He can—”

“No! No, Willow. I’m gonna do this. Just…don’t hassle me about it, okay?”

He could hear her sigh. “All right.” In a slightly brighter voice, she asked, “Did you have a nice time with Spike?”

He choked a little on his iced tea. “Um, yeah. I…yeah.”

“What are you doing this afternoon, sweetie?”

“Nothing much. I thought maybe I’d make a couple phone calls. How about you? Did you find more museums?”

“No. I’m reading up a little on the spell I’ll need tonight. And resting up a little. Magics take a lot of energy.”

“So I guess I’ll see you at seven at the Bell, then.”

They said goodbye and disconnected. Xander got a refill on his tea and retook his seat before dialing again. “Yes?” said the voice at the other end.

“Jessica Harris?” he asked, because he wasn’t sure, and wasn’t that sad?

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“It’s…. I’m Xander. Your son,” he added lamely.

She inhaled sharply. “Is this a joke of some kind? It’s not funny.”

“No, Mom. It’s really me.”

“What…what do you want?” The sharp edges of her voice had been dulled in a familiar way. He glanced at his watch. Just past noon in Redding and she was already drinking. She’d moved up her starting time.

“I just wanted to say hello. See how you were doing.”

“Not a word for years and suddenly—I don’t have any money to give you. Your father’s dead, you know. Cancer. And the idiot let his life insurance lapse, so….”

Xander felt nothing at the news of Tony’s death, nothing but the ghost of sadness. “I don’t want any money, Mom. Like I said, I just wanted to say hello. Let you know…I’m doing okay. In case you were wondering.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, and he almost thought she’d just put the phone down and walked away. But then, very quietly, she said, “It’s good to hear from you, Alexander.”

He was fucking not going to cry in a sandwich shop. “Thanks, Mom. Gotta go. Take care, okay?”

“You too.”

When he hung up this time, it felt as if his heart was beating more freely, like there had been a restrictive band around it that had just been loosened. He suddenly remembered a time when he was five or six and he’d woken up in the middle of the night with a nightmare. He’d padded to the kitchen for a drink of milk and discovered his mother sitting at the table, Kleenex in hand, her eyes red-rimmed. She had taken one look at him and stood, then led him to the chair she’d been sitting in. As he yawned, she had made them both pancakes with chocolate syrup and whipped cream on top. He didn’t remember them speaking much as they ate, but he did recall how good those pancakes had tasted.

He thought about leaving the restaurant before the next call. He couldn’t sit here all day, could he? But it was so hot outside, and the kids who worked here seemed indifferent, so in the end he just stayed put.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Giles.”

“Xander! Are you all right?“

“I’m fine.”

“Have you found Sevael? Buffy’s getting quite impatient, and—”

“We found it. And, um, a couple other surprises too.”

“Surprises? Xander, what are you up to and when will you be returning home?”

“Tacoma’s not home, Giles.”

There was one of those silences. Xander was getting used to them. Maybe he should take up Sudoku or something, to keep him busy while he waited for the person on the other end to respond. Finally, Giles cleared his throat. “What’s wrong, Xander?”

“Nothing. Everything’s okay. Willow will probably give you a call tomorrow some time.”

“And you?”

“I’m…I’m having a wild sex fling, actually.” His mouth quirked slightly as he imagined the look on the other man’s face.

Giles sighed. “Do be careful, Xander.”

“Always am. And Giles? Take care, okay? Say hi to Buff and Dawn for me.” He wanted to say more, but that would really clue Giles in that something was up, and then probably the whole gang would find some way to get themselves to DC pronto. Apparently he was just cool enough, though, because Giles said goodbye and they hung up.

Xander finally pried himself from the restaurant’s plastic chair and launched himself into the sticky outside air. The sky had gone an odd grayish color and Xander wondered whether a storm was on the way. His skin felt prickly, as if there was a lot of static electricity surrounding him.

He really didn’t have anywhere to go, but he didn’t want to be in the way if Spike had things to do. Maybe his vampire lover had some loose ends of his own to tie up. A passing group of tourists gave him a strange look and he realized he was grinning like a loon over the vampire lover part. Oh, he was just pathetic.

 So he wandered as long as he could stand it until, to his surprise, he found himself entering the Natural History Museum. He’d spent hours here with Willow already, of course, and he wasn’t interested in the exhibits. Instead, he found a bench near the stuffed elephant and sat there for a long time, people-watching. At one point a small, dark-haired boy crept over to him. The kid’s parents were busy dealing with a meltdown his younger sister was having, but the boy didn’t seem perturbed. He tilted his head this way and that, and finally in a husky little voice asked, “Are you a pirate?”

“Argh,” Xander replied. “Of course I be a pirate. I’m…the dread pirate Xander, scourge of the seven seas.”

The boy had to think about this. Then his eyes narrowed. “Where’s your parrot?”

“Ah. Well, I was drinking my rum you see, me hearty, and he escaped. Have you seen him?”

The boy leaned in close. “They stuff birds here.”

Xander feigned shock. “Avast! If they stuff me parrot I’ll make ‘em walk the plank!”

His audience nodded in agreement. “That’s good. Do you have a peg leg?”

Xander was debating whether to say yes when the boy’s mother swooped in. “Marcos! You know not to talk to strangers!”

“He’s not a stranger, Mom. He’s a pirate!”

The woman looked mortified. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry! He’s just—” She turned to her son, “That was a very rude thing to say!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Xander said. “I was playing along. It’s no big deal.”

Her embarrassment seemed to fade, but now she scowled at him as if she might recognize him from _America’s Most Wanted_. “Come on, Marcos!” she said and hauled the kid away by one arm. Marcos looked back at Xander and gave him a little smile, and Xander smiled back.

 

***

 

Xander returned to the Bell Museum at 6:45. The museum was closed and Mrs. Dinwiddie gone for the day, but Spike must have been waiting just inside the doors because he unlocked them as soon as Xander climbed the front steps. Spike was wearing blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. “Enjoy your day?” he asked.

“Guess so. I—” Xander was about to give Spike a thrilling account of the sandwich shop and Marcos the pirate fan, but Spike grabbed him and kissed the words right out of him.

“You’re wet,” Spike said after a few moments, separating himself slightly from Xander’s body.

“Um…not yet. But if you keep up with the kissing….”

Spike smacked his rump. “Your hair, git. And your clothing.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s starting to rain. I think it’s gonna pour.” As if to back him up, a peal of thunder sounded, making Xander jump a little.

“You should get dried off before the witch arrives.”

“Spike, I’m not gonna catch my death of _cold_, okay? Anyway, I’m just damp.” And then it was his turn to grab Spike for a kiss, before Spike could argue.

They were still making out breathlessly when Willow entered the museum. Neither of them noticed her at first—at least Xander didn’t, and Spike didn’t say anything—until she gasped and said, “Oh, my Goddess!”

Xander jumped slightly away from Spike. Willow was staring at them open-mouthed, and although Spike didn’t say anything at all, the expression on his face clearly conveyed his belief that this was Xander’s can of worms.

“Uh, hi,” Xander said, completely lamely.

“You were smooching!” she said.

“Were doing loads more than that,” Spike muttered under his breath.

“You’re smooching _Spike_!”

“Well, yeah. There was smoochage. And….” Xander stopped trying to explain, and instead grabbed Spike around the waist. Spike settled comfortably against his side. “And it’s a thing, okay?”

She looked back and forth between them and then squared her shoulders. “Okay. But we are so going to have a talk when you get back from hell, mister.”

“Yay. Something to look forward to.”

 

***

 

 After a brief discussion, they decided Spike’s apartment would be the best place for the spell. Willow would be relatively comfortable while she waited for them, plus she thought that when they returned from hell—she didn’t say _if_ they returned, although they all thought it—they’d probably come back to the spot where they’d left, and the basement flat seemed as safe as anywhere. For Spike’s sake, it was a lot better than, say, reappearing on Lafayette Square at high noon. Besides, the storm outside was really picking up, and the sound of the thunder and wind and crashing rain was distracting. It would be quieter underground.

Spike had put Sevael back in the cabinet upstairs, partly in the unlikely event someone might notice it was missing, and partly because it had seemed like the most secure place to stash the little figurine. Now he trotted up and retrieved it and they all made their way downstairs.

“So,” Spike said when they’d settled themselves on the couch, “how do we do this?”

“It’s pretty simple, really,” Willow replied. “You two need to empty your pockets, though. I’m not sure if your clothing will make the trip with you and you don’t want to lose your stuff.”

Great. Naked in hell. They each had a wallet, which they handed over and she placed on the kitchen table. Xander wondered what Spike carried in his. Did he have a driver’s license? Credit cards? Spike had been carrying a silver lighter, too, even though Xander hadn’t seen him smoking and the apartment didn’t smell like cigarettes.

She set the statue on the floor in front of them and pulled a sheet of paper out of her backpack. “It’s just a few lines, but my medieval French is a little rusty, so….” She cleared her throat, took a stance about five or six feet from Sevael, and began to chant. Xander didn’t recognize a word, but then he’d flunked modern French back in high school so he hadn’t really expected to understand anything. Spike, though, had his head cocked as if he were paying close attention. She went on for a while—maybe ten minutes or so—repeating the same phrases, and Xander was just about to ask whether the spell was working when there was an enormous flash of greenish light.

He was momentarily blinded, not only by the light, but also by the thick smoke that followed and made him and Willow cough. He waved his hands around, which probably didn’t help at all, but within a few seconds the gray billows dissipated and he could see again.

Willow was standing right where he’d seen her last. Her hands were on her hips and she had that stern look on her face that said she was Fully In Charge. Xander liked that look, especially when he was its beneficiary and not its recipient. Spike had stood up from the couch at some point but he’d remained very close, one hand holding Xander’s shoulder. Xander wasn’t sure whether the hand was supposed to be reassuring him or restraining him, but he didn’t mind either one under the circumstances and he stayed put.

He’d pretty much expected that after the spell Sevael would still look like a constipated ostrich, only more life-size. But that’s not what the demon looked like. In fact, Sevael looked almost human—if you could overlook the lavender skin—and was, apparently, female. Curvy and female and stunning, and she blinked big green eyes at them and swept her snow-white hair back over her shoulders and smiled. She wore a sparkly red minidress and glittery high heels; in general, she looked like she might have just stepped away from the Martian version of Las Vegas.

“Finally!” she exclaimed. Her voice was high-pitched and trilling. “I can’t _tell_ you how good it feels to be back to myself!”

“Um…Sevael?” Willow said.

“That’s me!” The demon had dimples. She rushed forward and gathered a very surprised Willow in her arms. “And you released me. Thank you!” She kissed Willow’s cheek loudly and then stepped back to look around the apartment.

“Sevael the Guide?” Willow asked.

“Yep. And oh my gods, my throat is _parched_! Being cloisonné is really dehydrating. Could I have something to drink?”

Spike shook himself slightly and made his way to the kitchenette. “Water? Ale? Blood?”

Sevael pursed her mouth as she considered. “Do you have something sweet? Juice, maybe?”

Spike started to shake his head, but Xander said, “There’s a bottle of strawberry pop in the fridge. I bought it yesterday.”

“Strawberry, pet?” Spike asked, eyebrow raised.

“Hey, it was near the checkout line and I haven’t had it in a long time.”

Spike pulled the bottle out, opened it, and handed it to Sevael. She took a long, long drink, draining half the bottle in one go, and then burped delicately and grinned. “This is _wonderful_! The bubbles! The color!” She put the bottle back to her lips.

They waited impatiently while she finished the pop and munched on a leftover hamburger bun and some chips—apparently, she was a vegetarian—and then she discovered the bathroom and spent a good fifteen minutes oohing and aahing over the plumbing. When she finally came back out of the bathroom, it was Spike who stepped forward. “Look, love. I’m sure the twenty-first century is fascinating and all, and I’d bet Red here would fancy giving you a tour, but first my boy and I have someplace we have to be, and time is of the essence.”

She looked at Spike and Xander. “Your boy?” she said.

Spike nodded decisively. “Mine.”

Xander should have felt a little uncomfortable over this discussion, he supposed, or at least felt the need to protest that he was definitely a _man_, gosh darn it; but he was remembering how single-mindedly devoted Spike could be, and the idea that such devotion might be aimed at him was slightly mind-blowing. So Xander remained silent.

“That’s so _cute_!” the demon squealed, clapping her hands. She seemed capable of speaking only with exclamation marks. “You’re so cute together!” She took a step towards Xander, who had the sudden fear that she was going to pinch his cheeks like his great-aunt Viola used to, and he sort of cowered behind Spike in self-defense.

“Yeah, we’re adorable,” Spike said. “But we’ve business to sort.”

Sevael pouted slightly. “Yeah, yeah. I figured. But why do you guys want to go to hell? It’s not romantic at all—not even for vampires. Wouldn’t you rather go to a cottage in the country, maybe a quaint villa on a lake?”

“It’s not a honeymoon, ducks. We’ve an errand to run.”

She sighed, which had a slightly mesmerizing effect on her chest. Hey, Xander hadn’t given up on girls completely, and from the way Spike goggled slightly, neither had he. Willow was also fascinated, but pulled herself together enough to say, “You need to guide them safely, please. And back. Back is the most important part.”

Sevael nodded. “Okay. I guess I owe you, after all. But maybe...” she swayed over to where Willow stood with a hand on one hip. “Maybe when we get back I’ll find a way to thank you more personally, sorceress.”

Willow’s face turned bright red. “Um…yeah! Sure! That would be hunky-dory. But now, could we maybe get this over with?”

Sevael swept her hair back again. “Sure thing. Tell me what you’re looking for.”

They did. She clucked her tongue over the tale of Angel’s kidnapping, but didn’t seem especially distressed. When they were finished, she nodded. “I can get you there, piece of cake. But the vampire hostage extraction, that’s all on you, right? I’m not allowed to interfere.”

“Right,” Spike said.

“’Kay then. Come take my hands, boys.” They complied, and then Spike grabbed Xander’s free hand with his, so that they stood in a small circle.

Sevael winked at Willow, who hovered nearby. “See ya soon, honey,” the demon said.

And then everything went to hell.

[Chapter Seven](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/198960.html)

 

 


	7. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
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_   
**The Wednesday Museum (7/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 7 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).   
 

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000phfhc/)   


**  
Seven  
**

 

Pavayne had given Spike vicious glimpses of hell, brief but vivid. There were flames that burned colder than ice and sharp edges everywhere and howling screeches that had made him wish he were deaf. And before that he’d had a bit of a holiday in the place, after Sunnydale and before LA. But that wasn’t the hell Sevael took them to. Nor did they end up in Lindsey McDonald’s suburban netherworld.

Instead, they stood in a vast room, so enormous that it was impossible to make out three of the walls at all. The ceiling was low overhead, though, and hung with flickering, humming fluorescent lights. The floor was scuffed vinyl, sticky as if someone had spilled soft drinks all over it. A long counter was set in front of the visible wall; the front of the counter was dirty and painted puke green and the top was cracked plastic. Computer monitors were spread along the counter, but in front of all but one were brown signs that read Window Closed. Sitting behind the one computer without a sign was a warty-looking demon, yapping away on a telephone in a language Spike didn’t recognize.

A long, long queue of humans appeared to be waiting for the demon. They were all naked, their shoulders sagging and their skin appearing dry and dusty. None of them spoke, and only a few even glanced toward the newcomers.

“Looks like the DMV,” Xander muttered under his breath.

“Least we still have our kit,” Spike responded. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do a rescue mission unclothed, but he’d rather not.

Sevael was still holding their hands. “Come on, boys. This is only the registration area.”

“How long have these people been waiting to register?” Xander asked.

She shrugged. “Who knows? Time’s funny here anyway.”

She tugged at them, leading them toward the counter. Some of the waiting people glared at them, probably figuring they were going to jump the queue. But Sevael simply took them forward and, as she let go of Xander’s hand and reached for the plastic, the counter reformed itself before their eyes, revealing a swing-away gate. Sevael opened the gate and took them through. The gate disappeared as soon as they were on the other side, the endless counter once again unbroken.

“Neat trick,” Spike said, and their guide dimpled prettily.

“Hey!” the warty demon exclaimed, dropping its phone. “You can’t do that! Move to the end of the line and wait your turn.”

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” Sevael said. And then she was instantly transformed into something huge and fire-breathing, a monster that seemed made largely of claws and fangs and poisonous-looking spikes.

The other demon made a strangled sound and scrambled backward. “Agh! Fine! Fine! Go away!”

Sevael shrank back into a purple girl in a spangled red dress. She smiled sunnily. “That’s the plan, Stan!” And she stepped forward to where a dull green door magically appeared in the dingy yellowish wall. She opened the door and gestured Spike and Xander through.

“That…that was really damn cool,” Xander said. “Can you do other shapes too?”

“Why? Don’t you like this one?” She wiggled her hips and twirled around in a circle.

“Um, that’s a very nice shape actually. I was just wondering.”

She winked at him. “I can do a lot of shapes. But I really like this one, so I think I’ll stick to it for a while.”

By then they’d passed through the door which, Spike was not surprised to note, disappeared behind them. They were in a long corridor, with more of those infernal fluorescent lights and more sticky floor. The walls here were a sickly gray. Spike couldn’t make out either end of the hallway, but there were many doors along either side, none of them marked in any way.

“Each of those is a different kind of hell,” their guide told them. “Like the one where you spend eternity navigating voicemail trees, and the one populated entirely by personal injury lawyers.” She pointed at one specific door. “In there, you’re forever driving the 10 at 4:30 on a Friday, and there are no off-ramps and your AC’s not working. Ooh! That one has a never-ending violin recital by third graders. And this is one long dentist appointment. Let’s see…center seat of an airplane full of screaming two-year-olds during heavy turbulence, and…oh yeah! Tax forms. Lots and lots of tax forms.”

“No brimstone?” Xander asked.

“That’s here, too. But there has to be variety, you know? Same old hell gets boring after a few millennia.”

They walked for what felt like hours, but of course it was impossible to judge time in this place. There were no noises apart from their footsteps, and Xander’s and Sevael’s breathing, but once in a while the demon commented on what lay through a particular door. They’d just walked past the one with the endless Miley Cyrus concert when Xander chuckled. “Is there a hell where you tromp around zillions of museums and there are no sexy vampires in any of them?”

Sevael paused in mid-step. “Nooo…but that’s a great idea, Xander! I’ll write it up for the suggestion box.” She slapped him heartily on the back.

Finally she stopped in front of yet another door. “Here we go, boys.”

“You’re certain he’s in there?” Spike asked.

“Absotively. But I’m going to wait for you right here.”

Xander licked his lips nervously. “What’s…what’s in there? Oh man, it’s not something with bugs, is it?”

She shook her head. “No, no bugs. This one…well, it’s especially suited for Angel, I think. You’ll see.”

With that cryptic bit of information, she opened the door. “Just call my name when you’re ready to go. And good luck!”

Xander looked at Spike, and Spike looked back. They nodded slightly at one another and then walked through the doorway side by side, the doorway somehow stretching to accommodate them both.

They were in a forest, surrounded by tall trees with bare, gnarled branches.

“Wow, Narnia much? But be careful,” Xander said. “Plenty of vamp stakeage material around here.” And he wrapped an arm around Spike’s, which was lovely. When had anyone last cared about Spike’s welfare?

The air was bitingly cold, and although the sky was black and starless, there was a dim greenish glow that allowed even Xander to see well enough to step through the trees. The ground was treacherous though, all loose, shifting gravel, so they walked slowly, peering this way and that.

“You know, Spike, this place isn’t exactly a vacation wonderland, but it’s not really all that hellish. I’ve been on camping trips worse than this, and that time last year when we were hunting Chittick demons in Louisville? Well—”

“Shh!” Spike hissed, because he’d heard something. Voices, he reckoned. Arms still entwined, they crept through the woods. Well, Spike crept. Xander lumbered like a bear in wellies.

Soon they came to a small clearing. Spike realized with considerable discomfort that an altar was at the center of that clearing. The altar was flanked by big bouquets of white flowers, and a red carpet streamed away from the center of it. Folding chairs were arrayed on either side of the carpet and filled with people in suits and dresses. Two figures stood off to one side: a woman in a white wedding gown and a brown-haired man in a tuxedo. And just as it occurred to Spike that he recognized this scene, Xander made a horrible moaning sound. “Anya!” he cried.

None of the people in the clearing turned to look at them.

Xander called again: “Anya!!” But still nobody seemed to notice, and when Xander began to lurch forward, Spike caught at his wrist.

“”Xander! Don’t!”

“But…Ahn. It’s when I…I…. Oh, God!” He tried to move forward, but Spike held fast, quite possibly bruising Xander in the process.

“’T’s not real, love,” Spike said as soothingly as possible. “It’s hell, yeah? No telling what will happen if you step in, but it won’t be anything good.”

Xander sighed and stopped resisting. His shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right. Sorry. It’s just— Let’s go find Angel and get the hell out of here, all right?”

They made their way around the clearing, Xander keeping his face carefully averted, and then there were loads more trees. Spike was more cautious when he again heard voices, and they came upon another clearing.

A Victorian parlor was set in the middle of this one like the stage in a play, with no walls but complete with sofa and chairs and rugs and little tables of knickknacks. There were three people in the parlor. A woman in a lacy black dress was off to one side, while another woman in nightcap and dressing-gown stood near a man with disheveled light brown hair and a gray suit.

Spike didn’t realize at first that he was whimpering, not until Xander stepped in and put an arm around his shoulders.

“That’s Drusilla,” Xander whispered. “And…holy shit, that’s you!”

Spike squirmed about until his face was hidden against Xander’s neck.

“What’s happening?” Xander asked.

“That’s my mum. I’m about…Christ, I killed her. Turned her. And then she was…. It didn’t work out well.”

Xander didn’t seem to mind that Spike was acting like a frightened child. In fact, he rubbed Spike’s back soothingly. “Hey, it’s okay,” Xander murmured. “Parental issues. I understand. Spike, what _is_ this place?”

“Hell, innit?” Spike stood up straight again. “Come on.”

They continued through the forest. Although they tried to avoid them, they came upon more clearings as they went and each of them held a small tableau from their lives. Xander summoning that bloody demon that had them all singing; Xander attempting to date a succession of girls, all of whom, he explained to Spike, turned out to be demonic in some way and out to kill him. In one large clearing, Xander and Buffy stood outside what was obviously Angel’s old Sunnydale mansion, talking. Buffy held a sword and Xander had a stake in one hand.

“What was that?” Spike asked.

His Xander—the one standing beside him, looking very pale—shook his head. “I told her to kick Angel’s ass. I knew Willow was working on re-souling him, I was supposed to tell Buff, get her to stall if she could. But I didn’t, and she sent Angel to hell.”

“Well, Peaches was being a right tosser. I hit him over the head with an iron poker that morning. Twice.”

Xander didn’t seem especially mollified by that, but they moved on. They both gasped at the next scene, however, in which a very young Xander was rolling on the ground with a struggling Buffy, snuffling at her shoulder. Spike’s Xander groaned and Spike looked at him quizzically. “Xander? Were you—”

“I was trying to rape her, okay? I didn’t go through with it, but that was only because she beaned me with a brick.”

Spike shook his head, trying to clear it. “_You_ tried to rape the Slayer?”

“I…yeah.”

“Didn’t mention that bit a few years later, when you were so angry at me for trying the same thing.”

“I was possessed by a hyena demon, okay? I wasn’t responsible for what I was doing.”

“Was I, then?” Spike replied angrily. He slapped his palm against his own chest. “Possessed? Demon?”

“I….” Xander shut his eye tightly, sighed, and then opened his eye again and looked at Spike. “I didn’t see it that way at the time. I’m sorry. I mean…I still think you were to blame. But no more than me; and then you went and got souled up afterwards, so…. I’m sorry.”

He looked genuinely distressed, and Spike’s anger faded. “Yeah, that’s…. This hell. It’s all bad decisions and past regrets, innit? Let’s not make new ones.”

Relaxing with relief, Xander nodded. “Deal. And let’s keep moving, ‘cause we still haven’t found Angel, and I’m kinda scared we’re gonna come face-to-face with Faith any second now.”

Spike didn’t know what problems Xander might have had with the Slayer and he didn’t especially want to find out, so he increased their pace.

They saw more unhappy views as they went. Some of them came from Spike’s history: finding the Gem of Amara and then stupidly getting it taken away almost immediately. Getting caught by the bloody Initiative (seeing that one made Spike’s head hurt). Shagging Anya—Spike and Xander both ran away quickly from that one. And there he was in Buffy’s bathroom and she looked bruised and vulnerable. Xander’s lips thinned but he also took Spike’s hand in his and squeezed it, and that was all right.

Many of Spike’s unpleasant memories resembled one another—him attacking and draining innocent people in his pre-Sunnydale decades. There was even the time with those gypsies about which, in retrospect, he had very mixed feelings. Xander seemed less distressed about all the murder than Spike, simply shuddering at the more gruesome ones and stepping away. “You have a lot more of these than me,” Xander said after a time.

“I’ve over a hundred years on you, most of that as a vampire. Loads of opportunities to do wrong.” They walked quickly away from a place where Spike was wearing a waistcoat and trousers with spats, and was viciously tearing into the throat of a pretty girl in a blue hobble skirt. When they were back among the trees, Spike said, “Christ, think of all the horrors the pouf has been seeing. He’s twice my age, and Angelus always fancied playing with his food.”

“I’d rather _not_ think of that, thanks. I had a little taste of what he was capable of.”

“But you’re having to see what I’ve done.”

“Well, yeah. And I’d rather watch _Criminal Minds_ or _American Idol_ or something. But I’ll survive. Um, at least I’ll survive _that _part. Don’t know what else this little paradise has in store for us.”

Spike knew that he should drop the subject, but he had to worry at it, like poking at a sore tooth with his tongue. “But after we’ve…after we’ve shagged, and now you see what I’ve done. When we get back—”

“When we get back I’m not going to be averse to more shagging. Spike, I _knew_ what you’ve done. I saw some of it myself, back in the bad old days. You weren’t exactly my favorite person back then, remember? I didn’t dislike you over your fashion sense—it was because I knew you’d spent over a century committing gleeful homicide.”

Spike looked at Xander from the corners of his eyes. “And now?”

“Things changed. You changed. Soul, saving my eye, saving the fucking world. Hell, I changed, too. Anyway, you’re seeing some of my finest moments, too.” He waved at the latest clearing, in which Xander was wearing a horrible multicolor shirt and baggy trousers, and he was sitting in that awful orange chair in his parents’ basement, cringing as the sounds of shouting and crashing dishes came from an invisible upstairs. “Am I still shagging material?”

“Absolutely,” Spike said with a small smile. If he could actually write decent poetry, he would compose one later about the irony of finding acceptance and forgiveness as he traipsed through hell.

They held hands as they walked now, and somehow the pain of all those terrible scenes was blunted a bit, like wounds finally healing.

After some inestimable time, they came to yet another clearing. The scene in this one was unfamiliar to Spike—a small flat, it looked like. It was a mess, though, with scorched cupboards and tumbled miscellany everywhere. There was a bassinet there and various baby paraphernalia scattered about. Spike turned to Xander. “Something you haven’t mentioned, pet?”

“Hey, this one’s not mine. Man, you’re not gonna eat the baby are you?”

Spike frowned and shook his head. “Not mine either.”

They were about to move on when a man in a white vest strode into the room. He was cooing at a baby cradled in his arm, and when he looked up, Spike and Xander both gasped. “Angel!” Xander said and stepped forward.

Spike grabbed him. “Wait. I think—just wait.”

Xander did. A moment later, another man entered the room, but this time only Xander was shocked. “Wesley!” he whispered loudly.

Spike sighed. “Yeah.” Because he’d heard this tale from Angel himself and he knew how it ended.

In the small open space, Angel and Wesley were talking. Spike couldn’t quite make out all the words—something about the beach or the park, he reckoned. Wes looked grim but Angel was oblivious, tickling the baby’s feet and making silly faces at it.

Xander turned to Spike. “What the hell—” he began, but he was interrupted by a cry of anguish from the trees on the other side of the clearing.

“Follow me,” Spike ordered urgently, and Xander did, hurrying just behind him as Spike skirted the sad little scene. But they both came to a skidding halt on the gravel when they saw the man among the trees, hunkered down on his knees. He wore nothing but tattered wool trousers and his exposed skin was pale and bruised-looking. His head was bowed and his hands covered his face.

“Connor,” the man said, so quietly Spike barely heard it.

“Liam,” said Spike in a loud, deliberately calm voice.

Angel’s head snapped up. “No, no, not you again. I’ve had enough of you already. And Xander—God!” He buried his face again.

Spike wondered what regrets Angel had been reliving that involved him. There were a great many possibilities, he expected, starting from the night Angel had allowed his mad offspring to bite the bloke she’d found crying on a London street.

More softly this time, Spike said, “’T’s really me. Really both of us. We’ve come to take you home.”

Angel looked up more slowly this time. “Home?” he said, as if he’d lost all hope.

“Home,” Spike replied firmly.

Even Xander likely heard Angel swallow. “But, how…?” Angel rasped.

“Slayer sent us. Well…it’s a bit more complicated than that, actually. But let’s save the storytelling for later, yeah?”

Slowly, Angel rose to his feet. His gaze wandered back to the clearing where Wesley, deep lines of pain etched into his face, was holding the baby. “Connor,” said Angel helplessly.

“’T’s not him, mate. You know that. And you can’t undo the past.”

Angel didn’t move. So Spike sighed loudly and walked beside him, taking one of Angel’s arms in his hands. Xander quickly did the same, and they pulled Angel deeper into the woods. He didn’t resist; he only stumbled dazedly between them.

As soon as they were out of sight of Angel’s Hyperion suite, they halted. Angel was still pretty out of it, but Xander and Spike exchanged a glance that said they were sharing the same thought: this was much too easy. Nevertheless, Spike opened his mouth. “Sev—” he began.

And then they were attacked.

[Chapter Eight](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/199516.html)

 

 

 

 

 

  



	8. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (8/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 8 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **This fic is complete and I'll post 1 chapter daily. Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art! Comments are always treasured.

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).   
 

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000phfhc/)  
   


****

Eight

 

Xander’s reaction time had become almost as fast as a vampire’s. When the monsters burst into view—and _damn _his complete lack of peripheral vision on his left side!—he crouched defensively and began immediately to search for a weapon. He was happy they’d retained their clothing when Sevael brought them here, but now he was really, really wishing he’d carried a few potentially lethal sharp-type things with him.

“Sevael!!” Xander and Spike screamed in unison.

The attacking demons were Wenstahs, short and solid and bumpy and gray, a little like ambulatory boulders. They were hairless and from what little he could tell, wore yellow Spandex wrestling unitards. Yuck.

He ducked as one launched itself at him, and desperately snatched at the nearest branch, wrenching it free of the tree with a loud snap. He poked at the nearest Wenstah and the Wenstah yelped and rolled away, but there were more to take its place. Lots more.

Vaguely, he saw Spike in gameface, whirling and kicking and punching. To his enormous relief, Angel seemed to have shook out of his daze enough to join in the fray, and he was growling and swinging his fists. But then one of the demons plowed into Xander’s midsection, knocking him onto his back, and it straddled him and scrabbled at his face.

Xander remembered what Willow and Giles had told Buffy as they’d researched the Wenstahs, back when they’d all assumed it was Buffy who would be running this errand. “Watch your eyes!” he screamed at the vampires. “They eat eyes!”

As if in response, the demon on top of him scratched at Xander’s right cheek. But Xander still had the stick in his hand and he managed to buck the Wenstah off—hooray for all the abdominal crunches he’d been doing the last few years—and rolled to his side before impaling one of its big, watery blue eyes. The demon screeched and pulled away but it didn’t die, and its eye regenerated as he watched. As it and a few more of its best friends moved back toward him, Xander remembered more of Giles’s lecture. See? He had so been paying attention!

“Their livers! You gotta destroy their livers!” he shouted.

Spike spat out a mouthful of demon. “Where _are_ the bloody livers?”

“Um….” A half-dozen demons were surrounding Xander now, looking warily at his stick, making clumsy little feints. Xander wracked his overworked brain. “Knees! In their knees.”

Spike did a neat somersault, rolling away from a few grasping demons and bowling two more to the ground. He stomped on a toppled Wenstah’s right knee, but the demon only squawked something in a non-human-sounding language and kept right on moving. “Which knee?” yelled Spike. “Which bloody knee?”

“Left! Always the left!”

And so Spike began to kick swiftly at the demons’ bowed little legs, and Angel was doing the same. Xander, too, and he also stabbed here and there with the stick, but there were so many of the little monsters, and their claws were raking at his skin, and he was spinning around because he _still_ couldn’t see on his fucking left side. He took out a few of them—quite a few, he thought, because there was a growing number of lumpy gray bodies surrounding him—but more took their place. He was getting winded from the kicking and ducking and swirling, his lungs and throat burning as if someone had thrust fiery blades into him.

And then, to make matters worse, one of their opponents seemed to clue in that pointy branches were handy anti-vamp weapons, and it grabbed a few and screeched at its companions, who followed suit. A few yards to his right, Xander saw a Wenstah impale Spike's belly. Spike bellowed, but so did Xander, because that belly was a pretty nice one, all smooth and muscled, and it wasn’t far from Spike’s vulnerable heart. As another fairly hefty branch was jabbed deeply into Spike’s lower back, Xander tried to fight his way closer. If he and Spike could fight back to back, Xander could at least help protect one side of Spike. But the demons were thick between them, all claws and crooked teeth and waving sticks, and Xander realized they reeked too, kind of like sour milk and boiling cabbage.

Angel stumbled into his line of sight. The big vampire was bleeding heavily and he had a few holes in his chest. Xander had a moment to be thankful that the little demons seemed to have terrible aim, or maybe not a very precise idea where human—and vampire—hearts were. Angel lifted one of the demons into the air and heaved it at some of its buddies, which at least slowed them down a little.

But then something hit Xander’s knee, which buckled and he fell. Demons immediately piled on top of him, all aiming for his single eye. He tried to pull them away, or at least bring his arms up to protect himself. But his strength was failing and his breaths were coming in ragged gasps.

“Spike! Help Xander!”

Vaguely, Xander realized that the voice was female. He caught a glimpse of bright red, which was immediately blocked, first by gray demon and then by blue denim. A roar like a lion’s made his ears ring. “Get off my _boy_!” Spike thundered.

Xander’s chest was free again, and then his legs. He scrambled upright, ignoring the pain in his knee, and fought at Spike’s side. “Sod off, whelp,” Spike commanded. “Can’t lose your only eye. Let Sevael take you home.”

“No fucking way,” Xander panted and then grunted with satisfaction as he kicked a demon knee just right. “My fight too, and I’m not—ugh! goddamn claws!—I’m not leaving without you.”

After that, neither of them could spare breath for speech. But Angel managed to make his way to them. His pants were in complete shreds, as was a good part of his skin, but he seemed to be almost enjoying the battle, and so was Spike and, Xander would probably admit to himself later, so was he. Because aside from the getting injured and potentially killed part, fighting was kind of fun; it was very satisfying to feel his fists and feet connect with sort of crunchy-soft demon flesh.

“Behind you, Spike!” Savael yelled. She was watching from the sidelines, swiveling her head like a spectator at a boxing match.

Spike spun and snatched a branch from a Wenstah just before the branch stabbed through him. He clubbed the demon over the head with it, then smiling evilly, swung a boot into its knee. It fell to the gravel instantly.

But another demon was scratching at Xander’s side, and Xander only just intercepted a particularly sharp-looking branch before it rammed through Spike’s heart, but before either of them could rejoice, teeth were gnawing on Xander’s thigh right through his jeans, and one of the heavy fuckers was hanging on his back, and Angel was wrenching off a Wenstah leg, which seemed pretty effective as far as demon slayage went, and Spike was howling in pain or glee, Xander wasn’t sure which, and…and then Xander pretty much lost track.

He came back to himself with Spike kneeling beside him, clutching at Xander’s shoulders. Xander seemed to be planted on his ass on the ground. Angel was nearby, and so was Sevael, but they were kind of fuzzy because blood was dripping off Xander’s scalp into his eye, and he was too exhausted to raise his hands to wipe it away.

“Xan?” Spike was saying. “You in there?” Spike’s face was gory, too, covered in claw marks, but Xander was relieved to see both ice-blue eyes intact.

Xander licked at dry lips. “I’m here. Demons?”

Spike’s gaze swept around them, then back to Xander. “Dead. All dead.”

“Yay,” Xander said weakly.

“Pet? How badly are you hurt?”

Xander did a quick self-inventory. “Not fatally. Maybe not even hospitally. More a great big trip to the drugstore, I think. You?”

Spike shrugged. “Not dust. I’ll mend.” And he leaned in close and licked the blood from Xander’s forehead, which was way less gross than Xander expected. He liked the feel of that slightly rough tongue on his skin. Spike followed up with a gentle kiss on Xander’s lips, which was even nicer. “Brave idiot. Could’ve been killed.”

“What the hell?” Angel sputtered beside them.

“And speaking of hells, boys, I think it’s time we leave this one, before more of those ugly little things show up.” Savael tapped one sparkly shoe impatiently.

Spike stood and then helped pull Xander upright as well. Xander was relieved to discover that he could stand, although he was even more relieved when Spike kept an arm around him, helping to support him. Xander’s knee was being singularly uncooperative. He was afraid they were going to have to walk all the way back through the forest, and there was no way he would make that, and Spike felt a little wobbly against him and probably couldn’t carry him. But Sevael drew the three of them into a sort of group hug—“Who the hell are you?” Angel asked, but nobody bothered to answer—and a moment later they were back in that infernal DMV. The demon behind the counter was still yapping into his phone, and it didn’t look like the line had moved an inch.

“Where—” Angel started.

Sevael shushed him. “Later, baby. Let’s beam back first, okay?”

She gathered them all back in again and squished them together—Angel sort of squawking indignantly as she did—and then Xander was dizzy and thought for sure he was falling, or fainting, or something.

 

***

 

“Xander?! Oh my goddess, Xander!”

Some pushing and shoving seemed to be happening over him as Willow and Spike fought over who would tend to him, and that made Xander smile because people didn’t actually fight over him all that often and it was a pretty good feeling. Then the two of his attendants seemed to come to some sort of agreement because four hands were lifting him, setting him down gently on Spike’s bed, and tugging gingerly at his clothing.

“Where _is_ this?” Angel said from the side, sounding kind of plaintive and pathetic.

“Home, Peaches. My home.”

With an effort, Xander managed to focus on Willow. “How long were we gone?”

“Thirteen hours. I was so worried! And then Buffy called ‘cause I kinda think she decided something might be up. Slayer senses, maybe? She wanted to talk to you and I came up with a lame excuse which I’m not sure she bought.”

“What excuse?” he asked sleepily. Spike was running a warm, damp towel over Xander’s arms and chest, and that felt pretty good even when it stung his scratches, but he kind of wished Spike would lick him clean. It occurred to him then that A) he was naked in front of Willow and Angel and Sevael, and B) he was maybe a little short on platelets or something because he felt like his skull was lined with cotton batting and his thought process was even flightier than usual.

“I told her your cell phone was on the fritz and you were spending the afternoon at the Hirshhorn Museum.”

Xander giggled. “Yeah, she’s gonna buy that, Will.”

“I was under stress!”

“Buffy?” Angel asked, clearly about ten steps behind everyone else.

Xander grinned slightly loopily up at Spike, because it occurred to him then that they’d gone to hell and back, and Angel was rescued, and nobody was dead. Well, except the undead. And about a zillion Wenstahs, but no great loss there. “Hey, Spike,” Xander said.

Spike shook his head fondly. “Was it the demons scrambled your brains or the journey, love?”

“My brains are as unscrambly as they always were. But I’m here and you’re here. Mostly in one piece.”

Spike bent down and kissed the tip of Xander’s nose. “Git.”

“It’s a new hell,” Angel said sadly. “One where Spike and Xander are lovey-dovey.”

“Hey, mister, they just risked their necks to save your butt. Be nice!”

Angel looked suitably chastened by Willow, and Xander felt sorry for him because hey, the guy had just been in hell a really long time. And without someone at his side to help him through those crappy vision things. “Will?” Xander said. “Can you get the vamps some blood?”

She didn’t look especially pleased to leave his side, but she nodded and moved off towards the kitchen area. He heard her conversing quietly with Sevael, but didn’t bother trying to figure out what they were saying because Spike was holding his head up so he could drink a few sips of water, and then Spike was smearing some sort of slightly stinky ointment over all his wounds and, finally, wrapping the worst of them in bandages. Xander watched carefully to make sure Spike drank a lot of A-Pos, but once Spike had drained his mug three times, Xander nestled happily into the pillow—and up against Spike—and let his eyelid drift closed.

 

***

 

He woke up in bed with two corpses.

The smaller one was snuggled close to him, a proprietary arm wrapped around Xander’s waist, soft cock nestled against Xander’s hip. The larger one lay on his side with his tattooed back to both of them, a back that was scored with healing welts and tears.

Xander didn’t move. He didn’t want to wake either of his sleeping companions. It was a little strange to be sharing a mattress with Angel, but there was no other place in Spike’s apartment for someone to lie down, and no doubt Angel was badly in need of a decent forty winks. Besides, Spike was there, and his very close presence had already stopped being weird and had instead become extremely pleasant. Even though his dead weight was lying on top of Xander’s arm, which had gone to sleep. Who needs two good arms anyway?

On the other side of the room, two female voices were whispering together. Although he couldn’t make out the words, there were muted giggles and a generally light tone that sounded an awful lot like flirting to him. Xander wondered what Willow had in common with an ancient hell-guiding demon. But then, he’d almost married Anya, so who was he to talk? Anyway, he liked Sevael. She’d helped them out, even interjecting herself into the battle despite some sort of neutrality rule she was supposed to follow. And she was…perky. And kind of shiny.

Maybe he hadn’t quite recovered from that blood loss.

He dozed comfortably for a while, sometimes waking up enough to stare at Spike’s beautiful, sleep-innocent face, where the Wenstahs’ scratches were almost healed. Then Xander would drift back off again. He wouldn’t have minded spending all day like that, but his bladder was beginning to complain and his stomach was growling. He was just about to collect the energy to get up so he could empty one and fill the other, when there was a strange _pop_ sound, a little like taking the cork out of a champagne bottle.

And then several people screamed, all at once.

[Chapter Nine](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/199965.html)

 

 


	9. </strong> The Wednesday Museum

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander), [the wednesday museum](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/the%20wednesday%20museum)  
  
  
---|---  
  
_   
**The Wednesday Museum (9/9)**   
_

**Title:** The Wednesday Museum  
**Chapter**: 9 of 9  
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not Joss  
**Summ****ary:** On a mission to Washington, DC to rescue Angel from hell, Xander and Willow run into an old acquaintance.  
**A/N: **  Much gratitude to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for being the perfect beta, and to [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  who never ceases to amaze me with her art!** Thank you for reading! Comments are always treasured.  
**  
Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Wednesday%20Museum&filter=all).   
 

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000phfhc/) 

 

**  
Nine  
**

 

He was blissfully cuddled against Xander—no, not cuddled. He was the Big Bad and he did not cuddle. But Xander was warm and they were both safe in Spike’s own bed, and Xander felt so lovely against him. It felt like Xander was truly _his_ in a way nobody had been since…since ever, really. Which was a foolish thought because this was Xander Harris and because they had been together now so briefly, but Spike couldn’t shake the feeling and didn’t want to shake it.

At Spike’s back, Angel was only inches away, and that was nice too. The pouf might have nearly driven Spike round the bend a thousand times, but he was family and it was an enormous relief that he’d been freed from hell. Again.

So all was, momentarily, very good. Spike had his eyelids cracked open the tiniest bit, and he was feigning sleep so that Xander would keep staring at him like that, with wonder shining on his sleepy, beard-stubbled face. At the same time, Spike was eavesdropping on the conversation between the demon and the witch. The girls had hit it off quite well, apparently, and they were currently planning a trip to New York City together: “Broadway shows!” Willow enthused quietly. “You’ll love them! And the shopping, and we can go to the Met and MoMA and the Cloisters and the Guggenheim….” Spike had the idea that once they had a bit more privacy their interaction would become more intimate. Pity he wouldn’t be there to observe. He might have a soul and a lover of his own, but he was still male and he still fancied the fairer sex. Besides, he knew perfectly well that Xander was as capable and willing as he was to imagine what two pretty girls might do with one another.

The girls also discussed how cute they thought Spike and Xander were together, and how they reckoned Spike and Xander would be perfect for one another. It was silly, but Spike was happy that Xander’s best mate was supportive of their newly fledged relationship. He wouldn’t fancy having his boy stuck in the middle if Red had disapproved.

These pleasant thoughts were drifting lazily through Spike’s head, but his stomach was growling and his injuries still hurt, and he was wondering if it was worth getting up yet for some more blood. And then there was a noisy popping sound, and several people screamed, all at once.

Spike, Xander, and Angel all scrambled out of bed, but Spike and Xander got caught up in one another and nearly fell and, consequently, Spike was too slow to intercept the blur that sped straight at Angel. Which was likely just as well because the slight delay gave Spike the opportunity to notice that, although it was on the short side, the blur was neither stout nor gray nor bald nor was it wearing yellow Spandex. Or any color Spandex, for that matter. In fact, it was wearing a brown skirt and white blouse and strappy sandals, and its hair was up in a blonde ponytail, and instead of attacking Angel it was flinging its arms around him so hard he was nearly toppled backward.

Angel must have recognized the blur, too, because he clutched her in return and bent his head to bury his face in her hair.

Then she pulled away and backed up several feet and planted her balled-up fists on her hips. “What the _hell_ is going on here? How did Angel get back and—and Spike!! Spike’s alive! And what’s with the naked snugglage?”

At that moment, Xander and Angel must have both become aware that they were bare-arsed, because they both made a sudden dive for the blanket. There was a short and vicious tug-of-war that Angel won, and Xander had to grab a pillow instead. He held it firmly against his groin. Angel wrapped the blanket about himself like a bloody toga. Spike didn’t bother trying to cover himself. Most of the audience had seem him naked before in any case, and the rest could bugger off. Wasn’t as if he had anything to be ashamed of.

“Buffy—” Willow began.

But the Slayer in question whirled around to glare at her. “You have been awfully big with the sneakiness, Willow. Explain! And who’s the chick in the tacky dress?”

“Hey!” Willow and Sevael both exclaimed, and Sevael took a threatening step in Buffy’s direction.

“Stop this at once!” Giles shouted. He was standing in the middle of the room looking rumpled in jeans and a grayish jumper, and pretending he hadn’t been fancying getting an eyeful of Spike. “Everybody just calm down. I’m sure there are perfectly reasonable explanations for…for everything.”

“Like what the bloody hell you’re doing in my flat, uninvited?” Spike demanded.

“Yes, well, you see—”

“Guys?” Xander said. “How about if we have this conversation fully clothed, okay? Please?”

Buffy frowned mightily and didn’t move her hands from her hips, but she nodded and so did everyone else. Xander scuttled awkwardly into the loo, still clutching that pillow but giving everyone a lovely flash of his bare bum. Angel, though, looked sadly at a loss because his only trousers had been ruined in the fight and were now in the rubbish bin. Spike’s clothing would never fit over Angel’s fat arse.

“Xan?” Spike called as he pulled on a pair of jeans. “Have you something Peaches might wear?”

Xander’s voice was slightly muffled by the door. “In my duffel. Green sweats.”

Spike zipped up and strode over to the corner of the room, where Xander’s bag was slumped in the corner. He pawed through it for a moment until he found the garment in question, which he then tossed at Angel. But he couldn’t suppress a snort of amusement when Angel pulled the trousers on, because one leg was emblazoned with a large cartoon dog. Scooby-Doo himself, if Spike wasn’t mistaken. A few of the room’s other occupants snickered quietly as well, and Angel scowled heavily but didn’t seem willing to swap back to his blanket.

The toilet flushed and the water in the sink ran briefly, and then Xander limped out from the loo in khaki short trousers and with his eye patch in place. His hair was still a tangled mess, though, and where he wasn’t bandaged, his many bruises and scratches were starkly visible.

“What happened to you?” Buffy demanded, albeit in a softer tone than before.

“The usual. Demony goodness.” Xander made his way to the fridge. He pulled out a container of blood—they were nearly out, what with their adventures and the extra hungry mouth—and emptied it into Spike’s favorite red mug. As the blood heated in the microwave, Xander unearthed a box from the cupboard and tore open the foil packet within, revealing a pair of pastries. Spike wondered what other food his boy had managed to squirrel away in his kitchen the other day. The microwave dinged and Xander brought the mug over and handed it to Spike, then standing very close to Spike took a defiant bite of his Pop-Tart.

“Introductions first,” Spike said, still mindful of his proper upbringing. Although as a human he’d never practiced etiquette half-naked. “This is Sevael.”

“The demon?” Buffy asked incredulously.

“The very same. And she helped us save your boyfriend’s arse, so be nice.”

“He’s not my—”

“Oh, save it. Sev, meet Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Rupert Giles the Watcher.”

“Charmed,” the demon said with her purple cheeks dimpling. Buffy mumbled a grudging greeting, while Rupert stuck out his hand and shook Sevael’s. He looked like he was biting his tongue to avoid burying her in questions.

“Right then. Now we’re all best mates. Now, how the bloody hell did you manage to simply appear like that?”

Giles took off his glasses, looked as if he meant to clean them, and then put them back on again. “I teleported us.”

“Teleported!” Willow squawked. “But you said teleportation was all dangerous and I shouldn’t do it. You said—”

“I know what I said, Willow. And I meant it. I wouldn’t want you to risk yourself that way. But Buffy and I were alarmed after your last phone call and we didn’t want to wait until we could get a flight out here. So I used that little locator spell you showed me last year, and here we are.”

Willow still had her arms crossed on her chest, but a bit of the fire went out of her eyes. “Everything was fine. There was no emergency and we didn’t need you. You didn’t have to risk getting stuck in sub-atomic bits either.”

Buffy said, “Everything was fine except Xander’s all mummied up in Band-aids and Angel’s out of hell and Spike! He’s not ashes. And they were naked. In bed. Together.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Get off it. We were sleeping. Recovering, actually. Nobody touched your precious manpire.”

“But you and Xander—”

“Fucked like bunnies the other day,” Xander interrupted with his mouth full. “The vampire formerly known as Bleachboy and I sort of have a thing going. Deal.”

Buffy opened her mouth, closed it, and then collapsed into the nearest chair. Spike smiled broadly at Xander, pleased that Xander didn’t seem at all ashamed of him.

“I so don’t understand,” Buffy said in a small voice.

After that, everyone settled in for lengthy explanations. Spike and Xander remade the bed back into a couch and Willow conjured up a couple of pizzas, her expression silently daring Giles to protest. The Watcher didn’t risk it. Everyone ate and drank, and Angel and Giles and Buffy asked loads of questions. Xander sat squashed nicely against Spike the entire time.

In the end, there was calm. There were clearly a few lingering resentments, but Spike expected this lot would get over them in time. They had all forgiven one another for worse.

Sitting in the ridiculous clothing, Angel looked shellshocked, overcome by his experiences in hell and by the realization that Buffy had been willing to rescue him, and that Spike and Xander actually had. Angel didn’t say so, but Spike knew that while his grandsire was in hell he hadn’t had any hope that someone would come after him. It would take him some time to adjust to the idea that people cared about him. Spike understood—he was only beginning to adjust to that idea himself.

Giles yawned hugely and set down his cup of tea. “It’s very late and teleporting is quite exhausting. I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn in.”

Spike glanced at the clock. “Yeah. Museum will be opening in a few hours.”

Giles stood. “Perhaps your hotel has more rooms available. Is it nearby?”

“Yeah,” Willow said. “Hang on.” She pulled out her iPad and spent a few moments poking at it. Then she tucked it away again and smiled at Giles. “Just booked a couple more rooms.”

“Excellent. And after we all get some rest, we can purchase some plane tickets back home.”

Everyone stood then, but an air of awkward silence hung in the room until Buffy walked over and took both of Angel’s hands. “Will you come with us? Please? We don’t have to…. There are no promises or anything, no…no big thing. But there’s room for you in Tacoma, and it’s always cloudy and drippy out there—great vamp weather. You can…you can rest a while. Recover.”

Angel looked like a drowning man who’d been thrown a lifejacket. But of course he couldn’t take the offer so easily, the great broody git. “Buff, are you sure you’d want that?”

She put up a hand to stroke his cheek. “I was willing to go to hell for you, wasn’t I? I’m… the thing is, Angel, I’m all grown up now. I’m…I’m baked.”

Spike had no bloody clue what she meant by that, so he glanced at Xander, who only shrugged. But Angel must have understood because his eyes went very round and he swallowed loudly. He lifted his arms up as if to embrace Buffy, but then froze and looked at Spike. Buffy turned to look as him as well.

Spike pretended that the tears that threatened over this small show of…of concern for him were only because he was knackered and sore. His mouth twitched into a small smile and he gestured at them in a “get on with it” motion. They smiled back at him and fell into each other’s arms.

“Aww,” said Willow and Sevael in unison.

Then Willow turned to the demon. “You’ll come too, won’t you?”

Sevael clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! Of course!”

“Um….” Willow said. “We might have to tone down the skin color a little. In public, anyway. But in private, I kinda like it.”

Sevael grinned and wriggled and her skin turned to a lovely milk chocolate tone that set off her snowy hair and green eyes brilliantly. Willow bounced a bit on the balls of her feet. “Ooh! That’s nice, too!”

Then she turned to Xander. “You don’t mind bunking with Giles, do you?”

But before Spike had even finished clenching his jaw, before the sinking despair had settled in Spike’s chest, Xander said, “No. No bunking with Giles. Uh, no offense, Giles.”

Willow pouted. “But they only had the two rooms available, and—”

“I’m staying here.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess you can meet us at the airport.”

“No. I mean I’m _staying here_. I’m not going back to Tacoma. I’m staying with Spike. That’s, um, if you’ll have me,” he added, looking at Spike.

Spike waggled his eyebrows and tucked his tongue behind his teeth. “Oh, I’ll have you all right, pet.”

Xander blushed a little and smiled like a child who’d just received the best birthday pressie ever.

 

***

 

“Hey, can you hand me the Phillips screwdriver?”

Spike put down his iPad and walked over to Xander’s toolbox. He pulled out the tool in question and reached up to give it to Xander, who was perched high on a ladder.

“Thanks, Spike.” He grunted a bit as he loosened a recalcitrant screw. Spike stayed next to the ladder, admiring the view: Xander was wearing tight jeans and a white vest that was equally tight.

“You know,” Xander said, talking around the screw he held between his lips. “Mrs. Dinwiddie giggles every time she hears me call you Spike.”

“Yeah? Well, you get to be the target of amusement next, because that horrid jumper she’s been knitting is for you, love.”

“The yellow one with the viney things all over it?”

“That’s the one.”

“And I’m going to have to wear it if I don’t want to offend her, won’t I?”

“Often,” Spike chuckled maliciously.

“Well, wise guy, maybe I’ll just have to ask her to make you a matching one.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Xander finally got the screw free, and he yanked the light fixture away from the ceiling. “Just watch me.”

“I’d have to punish you.”

Xander grinned down at him and then waggled his denim-covered arse slightly. “Not so much of a deterrence, oh beloved one.”

Spike took a while to digest that—not the arse-waggling or the blatant invitation for a spanking. The beloved bit. “Am I?” he finally asked.

Perhaps noticing Spike’s suddenly serious tone, Xander frowned down at him. “Are you what?”

“Your beloved.”

Xander climbed down from the ladder and set the light fixture and screwdriver and screws on the table. He put his hands on Spike’s shoulders. “I’m living in a _museum_, Spike. I’m living in the basement of a museum and I’m sort of skulking around the museum all night, fixing antique lights and repairing bedsteads and tables and things. And I’m being paid peanuts by our boss and I’m sitting through your lectures and _learning_ stuff, and I’m wearing hideous yellow sweaters with viney things, and instead of the nice, soggy Pacific Northwest I’ve got snow and a boyfriend who gets into bed with feet like ice and expects me to warm him up. Now, why the hell would I be doing all that if you weren’t my beloved?”

Spike was so full of happiness he could only lean his forehead against Xander’s and sigh.

Xander’s big, warm hands settled just above Spike’s arse. “And I’m your beloved too, right?”

“Of course.”

“So that means you’re going to go to the wedding with me and behave yourself and look stunning in a fancy suit?”

“’S not natural. Demon getting married in a place of worship.”

“Well, Willow’s trying to make nice with the parents and she found a _very_ reformed rabbi. Least there’ll be no crosses. Six-pointed stars don’t burn you, do they?”

“Dunno. Never tried it.”

“Well, we’ll just avoid that little experiment. I prefer you uncrispy.”

“The others will be there, won’t they?”

“Yep. C’mon, don’t you want to see Angel in a yarmulke? It’ll flatten all the spikes in his hair. And Dawnie’s dying to see you.” Xander moved his head a bit so he could kiss Spike’s temple.

Spike sighed again. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go.” He’d known it was inevitable from the beginning and the truth was, he was actually looking forward to seeing the Bit and…and old friends. But he couldn’t go without a struggle. He had a reputation to keep up.

“Good,” Xander said, and kissed him again, this time on the lips. It began as a small peck but quickly turned passionate. Spike had an idea that the light might not get fixed tonight, and the Christmas tree in the Rose Salon might have to wait another day to be decorated.

Xander pulled away a bit, his face slightly flushed and his eye dilated. “Know what else? I’m going to take _you_to a museum when we’re in Seattle.”

Spike’s eyebrows flew up. “There’s actually a museum you fancy?”

“Oh yeah.” Xander grinned. “Science Fiction Museum. They have a Battlestar Gallactica exhibit going on.” And ignoring Spike’s hearty groan, he swooped right back in for another kiss.

 

_  
~~~fin~~~  
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